First Meeting
by stuphanie
Summary: A fanfic based on Hawke and Fenris's relationship and their hardships, with a bit of Anders thrown in there too. Rated M for smut. My first piece. Currently unfinished and in progress.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter One

He first met her in Lowtown. The night was bitter, cold biting at his face as he descended the steps into the alienage.

"Your men are dead, your trap has failed. I suggest running back to your master while you can."

"You're going nowhere slave," the captain snarled, making to grab his arm.

"_I am not a slave_!"

Fenris' lyrium markings sprang to life as he thrust a transparent fist into the captain's chest, snarling, and thus crushing his heart as easily as if it were a grape. He then turned to the unusual group of people before him, and his eyes snapped instantly to whom he could only assume to be the leader of the group. She had the most beautiful eyes he'd ever seen, the colour of warm honey, and her hair were as black as midnight as it framed her porcelain face. Fenris' breath hitched in his throat momentarily until he found his voice again to apologise and explain about the violent situation experienced beforehand.

"If they were really trying to capture you, then I'm happy I helped," the woman said. Fenris felt taken aback for a moment; the sincerity in her voice shocked him, as he'd crossed few that set out for nothing more than personal gain.

"I am Hawke," she continued, with a smile that almost made him weak at the knees. "Is there anything else we can do for you?" She gestured to the group of people she was with – friends? Accomplices? It felt rude of him to ask, to be so direct.

He opened his mouth to say no, thank you, but his brain changed tack at the last second as his mind wandered to Danarius's manor in Hightown.

"Yes there is one more thing, and I will forever be in your debt."

oOo

Danarius wasn't there. After forcing entrance into his mansion and fighting through various defences and endless Shades, he was nowhere to be seen. The first thing Fenris felt was relief – his former master was absent, the mansion empty, and he felt glad that he wasn't being pushed into what felt like another eternity as a slave, a private bodyguard, anything Danarius wanted, all his whims. But then fear weighed in the elf's stomach. _Where was Danarius_? The whole situation seemed immediately suspicious and… odd. Why wasn't his master here to reclaim his 'stolen property'?

Fenris looked around the vast room, numb, before exiting the mansion. He was sure that the dwarf – Varric? – tried to speak to him as he left, but the elf was barely listening. Dark had really fallen now; Hightown was quiet, but this alerted Fenris to the smaller noise mere metres away. Every breath of wind sounded like whispers, and every rustle of trees a small of army of slavers awaiting to ambush him suddenly. Eventually Hawke finally came out the front door, companions in tow. But there was something else now bothering him on top of Danarius.

"It never ends," Fenris said bitterly, glaring down at his feet. "I escaped a life of magic only for it to hunt me at every turn." He directed his gaze to the blond mage before him as the latter twirled his staff idly in hand.

"I do have a name you know," said the mage irritably, hitting the cobblestoned ground with his staff, causing sparks to fly from the tip. Varric and the others eyed it somewhat nervously, and the red-headed guardswoman narrowed her eyes at the weapon.

Hawke laid a comforting hand on the mage's shoulder, and for some reason this incensed Fenris more. He clenched his jaw momentarily before saying, "I will follow if you have use for me. I am truly in your debt."

The mage snorted sceptically, rolling his eyes. Fenris quite wanted to punch him in his smug face, but it wasn't the mage's debt he was in.

"It's okay, Anders," Hawke said, with an encouraging smile, then turning to Fenris. "If you think having a mage in the party isn't a problem, then welcome aboard." She had said it nicely enough, but Fenris knew that there was an underlying warning – he would leave the party before the mage did.

The elf jerked his head in acknowledgement, and a small smile tugged at Hawke's lips. Fenris did his utmost to ignore the feeling in his stomach, where it seemed a large flock of butterflies had been released. "If you require need for me, I will be residing in Danarius's mansion – until he decides to claim it."

And he swept inside without another word, though the image of Hawke's delicate face was imprinted in his mind.

"Cheer up, Blondie," Fenris heard Varric say on the other side of the door, "the broody elf isn't that bad."

"Speak for yourself," Anders said huffily as they began to leave.

oOo

She was stood above him, wrapped in a red robe made of fine Orlesian silk, wrapped loosely around her narrow waist. The low light of the candles in Fenris' bedroom threw her curves into more relief, and flattered the soft contours of her face. He moved up the bed as Hawke came closer, and felt his breeches become more taught as his crotch grew hard.

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" he asked with some trepidation. His whispered voice permeated the silence and echoed slightly around the room.

"Oh, yes," purred Hawke, tugging gently at the sash on the robe. "I've wanted to do this for a very long time, Fenris."

The elf felt his length strain against the fabric of his breeches when she spoke his name, shivers of anticipation rolling down his spine. He opened his mouth to speak, but found himself lost for words as Hawke gave a final tug on the robe. The silk fell from her shoulders in soft waves, before landing silently into a pool at her feet. She stepped out of the material and sat astride Fenris, leaning forward so that her pert nipples brushed his bare chest. He felt his hips buck involuntarily, trying to lessen the distance between them, feeling her moistness meet the fabric of his trousers. She raised her hips more – on the contrary, she seemed rather keen for the distance be greater between them.+

"Good things come to those who wait," she whispered in his ear, gently nibbling on the lobe. A soft moan escaped his lips. How he ached to be inside of her!

"Hawke, please," he groaned, placing his hands on either side of her hips. Suddenly, she grabbed his wrists and pinned them above his head, nuzzling his snow white hair. She trailed soft kisses on his cheek, to his mouth, onto his chest, tracing the lyrium markings with her tongue. They flared momentarily as he felt ripples of pleasure shudder through his body. He pulled against her hold, but she only tightened it. He said nothing – he wasn't about to beg. He remembered as a slave, he was to speak only if spoken to, and here before him was a woman who wanted him to beg for release.

He let out a feral growl, before yanking his hands away from her vice-like grip and tossing her over onto her back. For a split second her composure slipped as Fenris now held Hawke's hands above _her_ head. Those liquid topaz eyes looked back at him impassively, twinkling as she blatantly enjoyed this new turn of events. She lifted her head to kiss him passionately.

"What will you have me do, ser?" she breathed, her bosom heaving and mouth moist from their kiss.

Ser? Fenris thought. The word was alien in this context, this human woman calling an escaped elven slave _ser_. But he took it in his stride the best he could, and let go of the tight grasp he'd had on Hawke's wrists before untying his breeches. He threw them in a corner somewhere of the room – where exactly he didn't care in this present moment. His length sprung free from its prison, the tip wet from arousal. Hawke bit her lip seductively, and it was all Fenris could do not to thrust fast and deep inside her. As calmly as possible, he commanded, "Suck."

Hawke obliged. She sat up and pushed Fenris down onto the bed gently, before straddling him again.

"I like this game," she whispered, kissing from the base of this throat down, never breaking eye contact. He felt himself flex as she moved to the top of his cock, flicking her tongue across the head. He closed his eyes, feeling her hot breath along his length, then licking from the bottom of his balls to the end of his cock before enveloping it with her mouth.

Fenris laid his head back with a groan, lifting his hips up to thrust himself deeper into her mouth. Hawke gagged, but this turned him on more. He glanced down and saw those honey eyes looking back at him, her gaze laced with lustful want, her mouth working his cock. She didn't tear her gaze away even as she took the whole of his shaft and her eyes watered slightly with effort not to choke. He laid his hands on her head, feeling his climax near with every thrust of his hips. His eyes closed in a state of ecstasy as he pushed to the brink of orgasm, then finally falling over the edge, his hot seed filling Hawke's mouth. Letting out a ragged breath, Fenris laid back on the bed, arms falling at his sides and a thin sheen of perspiration covering his body. Hawke lay next to him, but not quite touching.

"You look warm," she said, blowing a cool waft of air onto his face. It felt pleasant and his eyes closed again; she did this for some time until he began to shiver.

"Hawke, I am cold," Fenris said irritably, opening one eye to look at her. Still she didn't cease, as her breath became more forceful. "Hawke!"

Fenris woke up in his bed in Danarius' manor in the pitch black of the room, shuddering. It took a moment for him to realise it was a dream, and another moment for him to discover that a strong gust of wind was now whistling through one of the broken window panes.

Furious with himself for fantasising about such things, he stoked the fire and wrapped himself in blankets, squeezing his eyes shut and praying for a dreamless, Hawke-free sleep until morning.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

Hawke sat in the Hanged Man pub with her companions, half-empty tankard in one hand, and a hand of cards in the other. As they continued to play Wicked Grace and as Anders placed more ludicrous bets, Hawke couldn't help but let her mind wander to the elf she had met the evening before. In her mind's eye she saw him leaning against the wall of Danarius' mansion outside, a look of pure loathing in his eyes as he'd glared at Anders – and yet, she couldn't help but feel pity for him. He'd spent his whole life in servitude, and now that he was free, didn't seem to know how the world worked. Maybe she should've invited him to the Hanged Man? She suppressed an amused snort – why in Maker's name would Fenris want to come here? Give or take the odd decent patron, the tavern mostly attracted perverted old men with half their teeth missing looking to get shit-faced and leer at young women – mostly Isabela, but she didn't seem too perturbed by this unless they tried to cop a feel.

"Ah, bad luck, Blondie," Varric chuckled as Anders lost. Again. "You alright there, Hawke?" called the dwarf to the other end of the table.

Hawke snapped herself out of her reverie and threw him a reassuring smile. "All dandy down this end."

"If I didn't know better," Isabela muttered out the corner of her mouth as she threw a few silver into the pot and checking her hand of cards, "you were daydreaming about a _man_." She smiled charmingly, inching closer to Hawke. "What's his name, eh? Never thought I'd see the day where you fell in love." Isabela sniggered, raising her eyebrows and drinking deeply from her tankard.

"I am not in love!" Hawke insisted, louder than she intended. The whole table looked at her and she lowered her voice. Merrill, who was sat on Isabela's other side, jumped and sloshed ale down herself. "And there is no man."

"Maybe a certain _elf_, then?" Isabela said innocently.

"No!" Hawke hissed, then faltered at the look Isabela gave her. "Oh fine. I was actually wondering if I should've asked him for a drink and a game of Wicked Grace, to be nice."

The pirate giggled, draining the dregs of her ale. "I can't blame you. There's something so attractive about that brooding demeanour. I wonder what he's like between the sheets."

"Isabela!" scolded Aveline as she caught the last bit of the conversation. The guard frowned disapprovingly as Isabela laughed all the more. "Who are you on about now?"

Hawke widened her eyes at the pirate, and the latter cottoned on without missing a beat. "Ask me no questions and I'll tell you no lies Aveline. It's not what you think, anyway."

Aveline snorted sceptically. "I find that hard to believe."

Isabela pretended to be offended. Hawke was too used to their banter by now to bother taking them seriously. "Actually, _Aveline_, we were discussing the newest addition to our group of misfits."

Down the table, Anders' attention snapped to the women. "You mean the Tevinter _slave_?"

"Yes, him," nodded Isabela, ignoring Anders' hostile tone of voice. "We should drag him out one night, introduce him to the delights of Lowtown."

Anders glowered. "I'd rather not, thanks," he grumbled, turning back to the game.

"I think we should give him a chance," Merrill piped up. "He could actually be really nice."

Hawke saw Anders roll his eyes and mouthed what looked like "yeah, right". She opened her mouth to speak, but Varric cut in first.

"That's sweet of you, Daisy," he said. "Let's make this interesting: whoever can get the brooding elf out for a pint, the round of drinks is on me."

The table laughed, except for Hawke, and Aveline who still looked fiercely disapproving. It was common knowledge amongst the group that Varric had a tab he never seemed to pay.

"That's hardly fair, Varric," the guardswoman said, her brow furrowed. "You can't expect to buy his friendship. Providing he wants it," she added.

"No complaints if he doesn't," Anders called cheerfully amid more ripples of laughter.

Hawke sighed heavily, massaging her temples. At least they weren't teasing her for being "in love" with Fenris, although guilt tugged at her when she thought about him being holed up in that dark mansion alone. She knew how it was, in a way – she stayed in a hovel with her mother, Bethany and Gamlen in the slums; while she was in servitude to Meeran for a year, she had no one but her family until her path crossed with Varric's. Sometimes, one person made all the difference in the world. She made a mental note to check in on Fenris in the morning.

"I'll call it a night now," Hawke said, rising from her feet and stretching. She couldn't help but notice that Anders' attention was now directed at her again.

"Aw, leaving already, Hawke?" Varric asked, disappointed. "It's just getting good!"

"I'd rather not watch Anders lose again," Hawke replied, giving Anders a playful wink. "Anyway, Gamlen complains something awful when I'm back late, saying I make too much noise." This was only partly true, as there was one night where Hawke had practically crawled home from the Hanged Man and thrown herself into the house and to bed. The morning after wasn't a fun experience.

"I'm not that bad!" Anders said, slightly affronted. "I need to get back to the clinic anyway," he added, throwing down his hand of cards. Hawke couldn't help but wonder if Anders was leaving because she was.

Everyone did their best to encourage them to stay, that the night was still young, and Isabela promised she would give Hawke a 'special show' if she stayed, much to Aveline's disgust, but Hawke waved at them wordlessly as she left Varric's suite, Anders in tow.

"Who could possibly need to see a healer this time of night?" Hawke asked the mage now as they braved the bitter cold. She shivered and pulled her cloak tighter.

Anders shrugged, twirling his staff as they walked. "You never know."

"I guess not." Her teeth chattered as a strong wind blew, earning a sympathetic look from Anders.

"Do you want my cloak as well?" he asked, preparing to shrug it off.

"Don't be silly, you'll freeze," she replied, staring at the mage as if he was out of his mind.

He didn't look entirely convinced, but Hawke reassured him with a smile that melted his heart. He couldn't help but grin goofily back, astounded by her natural beauty. Oh, what he wouldn't give to take her back to his clinic in Darktown and make love to her in front of the fire…

"Hey," he said, struck by a sudden thought. "Were you serious about asking the elf to join us at the Hanged Man?"

Hawke avoided his gaze for a moment, the animosity between the two men obvious even though they'd barely exchanged five words to each other. She was a peace-keeper, and wanted the best for everyone.

"Yes," she said finally after a long pause. "You don't have to be best friends with him, Anders. Just civil. He owes me a debt, and offered to come along."

"We don't need his help," muttered the mage grumpily, glaring at the ground.

"I wouldn't have thought you were the type," joked Hawke, pushing him playfully. "Are you jealous?"

"W-what? Me? Jealous? No!" he spluttered as Hawke looked entertained, "I-I just don't like the look he has, like he'd stab us all in the back without a second thought."

He's making excuses, Hawke thought to herself, amused. "That's judging him a bit unfairly."

"Unfairly!" Anders practically shouted. "What's unfair is that _he_ judged _me_ for being a mage!"

"You don't know that," she said softly, resting a hand on his arm. His heart beat what felt like ten times faster at her touch. "We need all the help we can get, what with the expedition coming up and now Carver isn't here…" She trailed off, her voice unsteady, then looked him straight in the eye. "Can you please try? For me?"

She clutched at his cloak, her gaze so intense and innocent. Anders softened – he knew she wasn't manipulating him, emotionally or otherwise, but that she genuinely wanted to try and make things work – for everyone's sakes. Though he had a bad feeling about the elf, it wasn't going to benefit anyone in the long run if he kept hostilities open.

"Fine," sighed Anders, rolling his eyes, "providing he will do the same." He eyed Hawke as she looked mildly uncomfortable.

"Well, I can't speak for him, but we'll soon see," she said, biting her lip and giving him an anxious smile. She finally released her grip on him – which he was mildly disappointed about – and began walking again. "This is me," she announced after some time, climbing the steps to Gamlen's house. "See you tomorrow, and –" Hawke broke off. "Thank you, Anders," she finally said, before disappearing quietly into the house.

oOo

The beach was quiet as they trekked through undergrowth, their footsteps and lapping of the waves the only sounds. Hawke led the group through the Wounded Coast, on a lookout for bandits. Aveline was second in tow, sun rays bouncing off her guard's armour and a look of determination on her pale face. Her hand twitched on the hilt of her longsword, prepared for attack. She had taken this opportunity to investigate suspicious routes that she suspected Captain Jeven to be behind. No one was speaking apart from Varric, who was at the back of the group telling Fenris a story more far-fetched than when Hawke heard it the first time. Merrill seemed intrigued. Her eyes were like saucers as Varric reached the climax of his tale. Hawke glanced back, catching Isabela wearing an expression of amused scepticism, and a small smile tugging at Fenris' mouth. He hadn't spoken much since they left Kirkwall, but that was presumably just shyness. She hadn't spoken to him much yet, and barely had chance to drop in on him that morning.

A sudden rustling in bushes nearby alerted Hawke's attention. Her hand flew to her greatsword on her back, lifting it carefully and quietly. The others stood in a slightly crouched stance, prepared to attack any second. Hawke nodded her head and signalled for her companions to follow. They pushed steadily through low-hanging trees and foliage, eventually coming to an edge of a small camp, a handful of bandits sitting around lazily enjoying the heat of the day. Varric inched closer and deftly unarmed a trap with a flourish. They didn't need any attention now – but this soon changed as a loud yelp sounded from the back of the group. Then there were flashes of blue light as Anders cast several spells, and a battle cry as Fenris wielded his greatsword. The hostile air that had clouded the two men all day vanished momentarily as they worked as a team against an ambush of bandits. Varric fired bolt after bolt, one of them finally embedding itself in an enemy's skull. The dwarf whooped and redirected Bianca to another bandit.

Aveline rushed forward, bashing a foe with her shield when they charged at Anders. Hawke prepared herself to rush into the fray, sword held above her head, but something large and heavy slammed into her stomach. Her weapon drooped as she was winded, eyes closed in pain. She swung round to face her attacker a second too late, when beefy arms held her own above her head tightly.

"Hawke!" someone shouted, but was hardly discernible through the sounds of grunting, yelling and clashing of weapons.

Hawke kicked out her legs violently as a particularly weedy looking bandit ran towards her. She caught him in the gut; he fell back, hitting his head on a rock and moved no more. The oaf that had her in such a tight hold kneed her in the back. "Stupid bitch," he snarled, "you need to be taught a lesson."

"You think so, do you?" she gasped, her breathing shallow. She sounded a lot braver than she felt; her companions were all occupied as the bandits from the camp came rushing out of foliage. If anyone one of them turned their back to help her now, they would most likely lost their life. She was a big girl now – surely she could handle one of them by herself?

She threw her head back, hitting her foe squarely on the nose. He stumbled, releasing her as blood gushed from his face. He looked at her through baleful eyes and charged at her, specks of blood and spit flying – but she was prepared. Heaving her sword with as much strength she could muster, she brought it crashing down on his skull. The corpse landed heavily on the ground with a loud thud. Breathing harshly, Hawke leant against a tree to catch her breath, before a terrible scream echoed through the treetops.

"No!"

It was Isabela, a flicker of fear flitting across her face as Fenris fell, unmoving. The pirate turned her attention back to the bandit she had been fighting.

Hawke stayed paralysed by shock and fear, until the last enemy came charging through the undergrowth, intent on finishing off Fenris – providing he wasn't already dead. Anger flooding through her, Hawke ran towards him. She slipped backwards suddenly, though still skidding forwards. She pushed her legs out and collided into the bandit with extreme force. A crack like a whip echoed through the now-quiet clearing as the enemy's legs broke, the bones sticking out at vicious angles. The bandit screamed for a second, then a bolt shot through his skull, silencing him.

Varric holstered Bianca with a satisfied yet weary smile. They were all exhausted and splattered with blood that wasn't their own – except for Fenris. There was a long gash in his side, blood seeping through his armour.

"Anders, do something!" begged Hawke, unbuckling Fenris' armour with trembling hands. A pair of tanned hands enveloped hers – Isabela's – as they undid the armour quicker instead. The elf was still unconscious; though Anders checked for a pulse and assured his companions he was still alive. The mage took off the breastplate and lifted the white tunic that was now stained crimson with blood. He grimaced slightly – the wound was worse than anticipated. The others stood back a few paces, allowing the mage to work his magic, which he appreciated. He couldn't work too well with people anxiously breathing down his neck.

Anders pressed his hands gingerly to the seeping wound, his hands glowing slightly as he transferred his healing magic to Fenris' skin. The elf was beginning to stir as the bleeding stopped and the skin begin to knit anew. Anders tried to ignore Hawke refusing to leave the elf's side, her brow furrowed anxiously and chewing nervously on her nails. Would she be like this if it was me who was injured? Anders thought to himself. Maybe – but then this wasn't any special treatment. She cared for the health of everybody. This cheered Anders up slightly.

Fenris opened his eyes slowly with a groan. His wound had head, though left a white scar behind, of which Anders wasn't too bothered about.

"Hawke," the elf whispered, and the human's face relaxed with relief – as did many others. "You saved me."

She looked towards the blond mage. "Actually, Anders did."

Fenris's face hardened as he glared towards Anders, biting back the furious tirade of insults that had risen. How dare this mage violate him with magic! Hadn't he made his views on magic clear? He would rather be in pain and wrapped in bandages for days rather than let a mage touch him. But any of this would sound immensely ungrateful, and he wasn't prepared to turn the whole group against him already.

"Thank you," Fenris said jerkily, though glad that it came out more gratifying that expected. Slightly.

Anders ignored him and glared in the opposite direction.

"I think we should head back to Kirkwall," said Isabela to break the silence.

Her words had never been more welcome. Hawke lifted Fenris to his feet with Aveline and Merrill's help. The elf winced slightly as he got unsteadily to his feet, his expression strained, but his olive green eyes met Hawke's honey ones. She smile widely at him, mostly out of relief, and they set off to join Varric and the others. They walked side by side all the way back to Kirkwall, making small-talk, Hawke blushing every time she met the elf's gaze.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

Things were quiet for a while as the days led up to the Deep Roads expedition. Hawke had finally acquired the fifty sovereigns needed, and had to exercise caution not to bet the whole lot playing Wicked Grace. Aveline had manage to exploit Captain Jeven, was due to begin training to be guard captain soon, and Fenris had integrated nicely into the group. Albeit he was quiet, brooding and hardly ever managed to crack a smile, but at least he was friendly enough to have a pint and play card games with. Everyone else seemed pleased that Fenris hadn't met his death off the Wounded Coast – all it seemed except for Anders. The mage and elf often threw glares at each other, but nothing more. The situation between them seemed tenser following their heated argument the night before, about mages, no less.

"Mages are like slaves! You should feel sorry for them!" Anders had bellowed at Fenris, hitting the table with his fist and nearly upsetting everyone's ale.

"I don't," Fenris had snarled back, his lip curled at Anders. His eyes had been positively alive with anger and loathing.

Now, they settled for giving each other dirty looks, and situated and opposite ends of the table. They played Wicked Grace together amicably enough, though sneered contemptuously if either of them lost.

Anders cheered suddenly, raking in a small pile of silver a copper towards him.

"That was an easy round, Blondie, we let you win," Varric insisted, shuffling the cards and dealing them out again, but Anders didn't hear him, too busy grinning and counting his meagre winnings.

"About time," Isabela muttered, downing two shots of rum in a row. "I was sick of seeing him mope. 'Ooh I've never won Wicked Grace yet,'" she said, adopting a high-pitched voice to imitate Anders. "'If only I could win the beautiful Isabela! Oh I wish I could bend Hawke over a basin..!'"

Hawke snorted and spluttered into her tankard, ale trickling down her chin. Embarrassed, she wiped it away as several others laughed. She coughed violently to rid her gullet of liquid and resulted spraying spit over the table. Isabela roared with laughter, and even Aveline joined in.

"Did she say something rude again?" Merrill whispered to the guardswoman. Hawke chuckled – ah, sweet innocent Merrill.

"Nothing you need to worry about, kitten," the pirate grinned at the Dalish elf. The latter still looked politely bemused.

Hawke swallowed the remainder of her ale, still smiling. It was hard not to have fun and laugh along with Isabela.

"Anyone for another drink?" Hawke asked the table at large. She received several accepting grunts, and a request to get Isabela more shots of rum.

Downstairs of the Hanged Man had filled out, several of the patrons stumbling this way and that, some of them telling drunken stories. Hawke squeezed through a large group of men, holding her breath as she did so – experience told her that many of the regulars barely bathed once a month. A mix of sweat, ale and piss assaulted her nostrils as she let out a deep breath to speak to Corff, the barman, and shouted her order over the commotion. He didn't appear to hear her, and vanished into the back for more caskets.

Hawke swore under her breath, and nearly jumped a foot in the air when a voice sounded behind her.

"I thought you could use a hand." The voice was low and gravelly, and sounded very near behind her. She swung round and came face to face with Fenris. Or rather, face to chest. She glanced up and met his olive green eyes. His tone was soft, but his face unsmiling.

She took a deep breath to steady herself. Big mistake. He smelled divine; of mint and musky smoke of a fire, with a hint of the ale he had been drinking. "Thanks," Hawke managed to say after a moment of composure, "I couldn't have managed these on my own." She cleared her throat awkwardly as Fenris gazed at her impassively. "Corff!" she shouted to cover the moment. The barman finally came sidling over and began pouring out the drinks.

"How are you liking Hightown?" asked Hawke, gathering up tankards brimming with foaming ale. She sipped one, enjoying the cool bitter liquid slide down her throat. She was too busy glancing at him for a reaction that she bumped into someone, the pints sloshing onto the floor.

"Watch where you are going," snapped Fenris to the patron, shoving the drunkard away with his shoulder. His attention turned back to Hawke, whose cheeks had flushed a deep red. He chose to overlook this. "Hightown is a good place to live. Danarius's mansion is enough to serve my needs."

Hawke nodded, hoping he would elaborate, but he didn't. She couldn't help but become aware of how close he walked with her; though that was probably because of lack of space in the current environment. She caught whiffs of his intoxicating smell, and she found it harder to concentrate as she walked. Finally, they had entered Varric's suite again, setting down the tankards in the middle of the table. Isabela got her rum; which she drank straight away. Hawke went to sit back in her seat, but found it occupied by Merrill. Isabela caught Hawke's eye and winked; the latter knew straight away that this had been a deliberate attempt to get her to sit next to Fenris. Without having a say in the matter, Hawke flopped down in the chair next to the elf with a heavy sigh, causing him to turn his attention to her for a second. The pirate winked again before turning back to Merrill and Aveline. Hawke would have took this gesture to heart, but Isabela did her best to play matchmaker with everyone else, including herself. Of course, no one took notice of this, because whatever no one wanted Isabela had, so everyone was happy.

"Surely I'm not that bad company, am I?" asked Fenris in a low voice, glancing at Hawke from the corner of his eye.

"What? Oh! No, of course not," she insisted, immediately flustered. The elf raised his eyebrows and turned back to the game.

"Come on, Broody, you can do better than that," chuckled Varric as play ensued.

"I do not brood," muttered Fenris, glaring at the dwarf.

"Friend, if your brooding was more impressive, women would swoon as you passed and have broody babies in your honour," said Varric knowingly, tipping his tankard in Fenris's direction.

The elf continued to frown, even more so as Isabela won for the third time in a row.

"How do you get so good?" sighed Merrill enviously, looking sincerely downtrodden.

The pirate chuckled. "Because I cheat, kitten."

"As much as I wish I could sit here and drink away my gold all night," said Aveline, rising from her chair, "some of us have a duty to the city."

Isabela snorted. "Boring."

Aveline shot her a dirty look, before bidding the group a farewell. "Don't forget tomorrow, Hawke," she added.

Hawke grinned. "How could I? I've only been saving every silver I've got for the past sodding year!"

Varric laughed good-naturedly. "I've been waiting for this a long time, Hawke. Are you prepared for this? What we find down there could set us up for life!"

"More than ready, my friend," beamed Hawke. "The darkspawn won't know what hit them! Right, Anders?"

The mage jumped at being addressed so directly and suddenly. "In all honesty, if I never saw the blighted Deep Roads again I would die a happy man."

"What about you?"

Fenris turned to look at Hawke, giving her his undivided attention. "If you require me, I will go."

"You don't have to," Anders said to him hopefully, earning himself a glare.

"That's the spirit," said Varric, passing over Anders's comment. "Come on, one more game before we turn in!"

His proposition was greeted by cheers of agreement. Fenris moved slightly closer to Hawke, enough for him to talk in low tones and not be heard.

"Just be careful down there," was all he said, his face betraying no emotion.

Hawke met his gaze and held it, her stomach doing somersaults at his voice. She nodded slowly.

He looked away first.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

After the Deep Roads, Hawke moved up in the world. Literally. She bought a mansion in Hightown, the old Amell estate with the proceeds of the expedition. Aside from Bartrand transpiring to be a complete son of a bitch and betraying them all, things couldn't have gone smoother – except for a few casualties, but Anders had seen to those much to Fenris's displeasure. Varric had not seen hide nor hair of his brother since being back on the surface, so it was assumed he was travelling somewhere to flog his wares and covet the stupid lyrium idol. Of course, the first night they were back, they celebrated in the Hanged Man. Leandra had settled in nicely to the new estate. She mostly kept herself busy, to distract herself from the loss of another child.

When Hawke returned, Bethany had been taken to the Circle by Night Commander Cullen, stating that she was lucky to keep her life. It had been emotionally straining for Leandra especially, although she confessed to her eldest daughter it felt as if Bethany really _had_ died; they weren't allowed to see her, nor her them, destined to be locked away in the Gallows for the rest of her days. Hawke remembered how her mother sobbed for days, drifting about the huge mansion aimlessly. It was the most depressing thing she'd ever seen.

Hawke awoke as suddenly as if someone had yelled in her ear. Warm dawn light was peering through the small gaps of her bedroom curtains. Birds had begun to chirp outside. A gentle sniffling sound reached her ears. Peering over the folds of her duvet, Hawke spotted her mabari, Torch, pushing his snout under her covers for a sniff.

"Get out," she muttered, flapping her hand at him. Instead of shying away, the great dog wagged his tail happily, licking her hand in a way of morning greeting. She laughed, then stretched luxuriously, the duvet falling away from her. It was lovely to finally have her own room, and the privacy to sleep naked. This was short-lived, however, when a knock came on her door.

"Messere?" called Bodahn tentatively. "There's a man here to see you –"

Hawke barely had more than a minute's warning as her door opened unexpectedly. Anders strolled in, then stopped short as she clutched her bed covers to her body desperately.

"Anders!" she cried, "knock first!"

"I was just announcing your arrival, messere," said Bodahn, slightly annoyed.

"It's okay," Hawke said, dismissing her man-servant with a wave. He bowered and left the room, followed by Torch, and closed the door behind him with a snap.

"Sorry," Anders muttered, embarrassed.

"Don't be," Hawke replied, equally as embarrassed. She wrapped her duvet around herself securely. "What is it you need, Anders?"

"Just to see how you are after… Bethany and everything." He paused before continuing, carefully choosing his words. "I know I'm all for the freedom for mages, and I know the Circle isn't the greatest place but… at least you still have your sister and she as you. I guess you're all you've both got now…" Anders swallowed, "now Carver isn't here."

Hawke remained silent. It meant a lot for Anders to be here and comfort her; she knew that he had experienced the Circle first hand. It was true, what he said, even though Bethany was locked away, at least she was still alive. Hawke felt a pang of sorrow as she remembered Carver. She wished her younger brother was still around. They used to fight and argue something awful but she never thought she'd miss him this much.

"Thank you, Anders," she said after some time. She smiled encouragingly. "I feel better."

It was true – the heavy weight she hadn't realised was pressing on her shoulders had lifted slightly, taking some of the guilt away. If she had taken Bethany to the Deep Roads, maybe she wouldn't be in the Circle. The blond mage beamed at her.

"Glad I could help." Suddenly his face fell and he looked uncomfortable again. "I'll leave you to, uh…"

Anders waved his hand towards her, where he knew that under the folds of material she lay naked. He turned to leave, begrudgingly. She was even more beautiful to him in her sleep-befuddled state, her dark hair sticking up at all angles and her eyes tired. She looked vulnerable, and none of her companions had seen her like this. Usually she was all armour and had a hard-as-nails demeanour, betraying none of her emotions to anyone. Anders took solace in this fact that _he_ was the one to see her at her weakest, and lift her back up again.

He turned to leave, lost in thought – however, he soon bumped into something tall as he exited her estate. Looking up, he met a familiar pair of green eyes.

"Watch where you are going, mage," growled Fenris, side-stepping him.

Anders blocked his way. "What are you doing here?"

"I need to see Hawke." The elf moved by the mage lithely, barely giving him time to think.

"Messeres –" Bodahn began, but the two men ignored him.

"Well she's busy right now and can't see you," said Anders shortly, rushing to follow Fenris as he barged into the mansion hall. Suddenly, the elf stopped so that Anders collided with him again.

"What is it with you and Hawke, mage?" asked Fenris in a low, dangerous tone.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Anders replied, though his voice trembled slightly.

"You are in love with her."

The mage remained silent, but this seemed to spur Fenris on more. "Tell me, abomination, does she feel the same way?"

"I am not an abomination!" said Anders hotly. He felt Justice surge to the surface and did his best to remain calm. Now was not the time for the spirit to rear its head.

"You didn't answer my question." Fenris's lip curled as he watched Anders struggle with himself.

"That's none of your business," he said defiantly, his hands clenched tightly into fists as he tried to control himself, which was easier said than done when the elf was purposely trying to set him off. "What if she did?"

Fenris took a step closer to Anders. Out of the corner of his eye Bodahn dithered on the spot, wondering if he should allow the men their territorial pissing or call for help.

"Do not insult me, mage," Fenris snarled, his nose barely an inch from Anders'.

"I don't remember you being so hostile when I saved your life on the wounded coast," quipped the mage swiftly. He stood his ground.

"I never asked for your filthy magic!" hissed Fenris. What he wouldn't give to pummel this mage and his incessant whining about Hawke and how mages should be free. Was he truly that blind that magic did more bad than good?

"I would have gladly let you bleed out there and then, it would've saved me a lot of trouble – but I did it for Hawke, because she couldn't bear to let _you_ die!" Anders prodded Fenris in the chest at this to emphasis his point. "She can do better than you!"

The elf remained speechless. The mage had implied Hawke had feelings for him, Fenris, but was this true? Or was Anders purely trying to get his back up?

"What's going on here?" cried a woman's voice.

The two men sprang apart from each other and whirled round, spotting Hawke at the foot of the stairs. Fenris noted that she was wearing a red gown, similar to the one he had dreamed about her in. This did not help.

Bodahn rushed forward. "Messere, I was about to call you."

Hawke's gaze softened as she assured the dwarf that no harm was done, but then her eyes snapped back to her visitors. For such a kind-faced attractive woman, it was remarkable how much she resembled a mabari right now. "_Well_? Some might say it's impolite to burst into someone's home unannounced, and proceed to have a shouting match in the hall." Hands on hips, her eyes flickered between the two of them. Anders had the grace to look ashamed of himself, whereas Fenris stepped towards her. She felt herself weaken as she inhaled his intoxicating scent, struggling to look disapproving still.

"Apologies, I met the mage on my way in," said the elf, throwing Anders a nasty look, of which the latter reciprocated. "I merely sought your help."

Hawke relaxed slightly. "It's quite alright," she said with dignity. All of a sudden, she became aware of her robe coming loose, crossing her arms in front of her chest firmly. The last thing she wanted right now was her breasts becoming free and on show. For the second time that morning.

"I'll be going back to the clinic now," Anders announced from behind Fenris. "You know where I am if you need me," he added in a gentle tone, gazing at Hawke fondly. Fenris continued to glower even as Anders left.

"What's this about?" asked Hawke, her brow furrowed with concern.

The elf avoided looking at her as he continued. She looked particularly appealing today, but that was probably due to the vast amount of cleavage she had. Fenris exercised all the self-control he could muster not to ravage her right there and then.

"It is Hadriana, my master's apprentice," he said at last. "I have a source that told me she is currently residing in the abandoned slaver caves outside of Kirkwall."

"And you think she's after you?"

"I believe she will not strike soon, or ever. My belief is that she thinks I will go to her, where she will capture me and take me back to Danarius." He spat the name as it tasted bitter in his mouth.

Hawke advanced towards him. His breath hitched, like it always did when she was near him. She was close enough to touch. Her eyes glittered as she looked up at him determinedly. "We will fine her. She will not take you." She spoke the last of her words with such ferocity it was startling.

She laid a comforting hand on his arm. Reflexively, he flinched at her touch, glaring at her. He regretted his actions almost straight away as she looked offended, even more so when he realised it was he who'd hurt her. Being touched so gently was an aspect that was unknown to him. As a former slave to a master who abused him for the slightest things, all he had known was the harsh crack of a whip. Hadriana was also a torment, taking pleasure in using her filthy blood magic to torture him, hounding his sleep and denying meals.

Hawke withdrew her hand as if burned and stepped away from him. "I didn't mean to offend you –"

"Think nothing of it," muttered Fenris, continuing to avoid her eyes.

_Why won't he look at me?_

The air was somewhat tense between them now, a long silence stretching between them, broke only by Torch bounding out of the kitchen to Hawke. Leandra followed, looking somewhat exasperated.

"Keep him out of the kitchen, love, he's more a hindrance than a help," she sighed as the mabari sniffed Hawke excitedly. She caught sight of Fenris and seemed momentarily startled. "Hello, I didn't realise we had a visitor." She looked at her daughter and lowered her voice a notch, though was still clearly audible. "Is this the elf you were telling me about?"

Hawke's mouth fell open in shock, and Fenris smirked at the situation. "Mother!"

"Sorry, dear," though Leandra was still beaming. "I'll be in the kitchen if you need me."

She began to leave, a look of utter horror still on Hawke's face. "I'm sorry about that…" She swallowed and glanced up at the elf, determined once more, professional once again. "I'll talk to Aveline about protection outside your mansion, in case Hadriana or anyone else comes for you."

"That won't be necessary. I think the best we can do is a direct approach," Fenris stated, "that way we will have her cornered and I will be able to take care of her myself."

"Well, we will need some sort of plan, we can't go running into the whole thing without any consideration. I'll tell you what," Hawke said, struck by a sudden thought, "I'll call in on the others and bring them here, we can talk about it then."

Fenris felt unsure. Was it really a good idea to involve everyone? He thought of Anders, and his blood boiled. He didn't want the mage's help, but it seemed inevitable, Hawke would never let him go at it on his own. He knew deep down he needed all the help he could get – he had no chance of facing that bitch Hadriana alone.

The elf nodded his approval.

"Excellent," beamed Hawke. "If you want to take a seat, I'll be back down in a moment – it is time I dressed for the day."

And with that, she tied her gown securely and began to make her way upstairs elegantly. He couldn't help but stare transfixed at the silhouette of her body through her gown. He wished he could follow her to her bedroom and undress her carefully to reveal her naked form inch by inch…

No. She was a human noble now, the leader of their group, and he was an elf and escaped slave. It would never work. He was furious with himself for feeling anything towards her – it made him feel vulnerable. Who was to say that she wouldn't turn round and reject or betray him for whatever reason? Though he doubted that. Every aspect he had seen of her over the past three years implied nothing else but genuine kindness and selflessness. He would be foolish to read into false meaning.

Up in her room, Hawke rifled through the contents of her wardrobe for something suitable to wear. She couldn't help but feel hurt at how Fenris recoiled at her touch, a gesture of comfort. Was he repulsed by her? she wondered fretfully, pulling out a pair of brown leggings and white shirt. Maybe he was; he had implied nothing else towards her except professionalism and even friendship. She laughed to herself – how stupid would she have to be to assume Fenris had romantic feelings towards her? The mere idea of it was ludicrous. But it had been a long time since she had experienced male – or female – companionship. She had never been in love, or wanted to be, but she missed the feeling of another body against hers. Such things appeared impossible to her. There was always something to do, someone to help, and she would be selfish to indulge in her most private pleasures. There was always the Blooming Rose, but Isabela would never let her live it down; as she had instantly dismissed the brothel as "seedy", she would have to be desperate. And the notion of having a casual fling within Kirkwall also seemed impossible; more and more people knew who she was now, the name "Hawke" on many lips, and it was inevitable someone would let slip they bedded a noble from Hightown.

There were her companions to consider. Hawke knew Isabela would gladly rise to the opportunity, but the pirate did so on so many other occasions. Maybe Anders? He had nursed a soft spot for Hawke ever since she stumbled upon him in his clinic those years ago, requesting maps for the Deep Roads. His affection for her had increased tenfold after she comforted him over his loss of Karl, and especially during the expedition when they needed each other the most – though Hawke knew he would want more, a relationship, and this wasn't the time for such things. But everyone else was impossible – Merrill, the ever innocent elf, was a definite no; Varric only had eyes for Bianca, and Aveline considered frivolous sex absurd.

Resigned to believing she would be alone for a very long time, Hawke dressed, buckled herself into her armour and hastened downstairs again into the hall. Fenris was thumbing through a book on the table, his brow furrowed. He looks attractive when he concentrates, Hawke thought to herself. She shook her head to rid herself of such thoughts and approached him.

"Have you read it before?"

He jumped at her voice, nearly dropping the book in surprise. "No, I have not."

"You can borrow it, if you like," Hawke offered.

Instead of looking grateful, Fenris appeared uneasy.

"What is it?"

He didn't reply straight away, instead turning over the book in his hands, the letters a jumble of odd undiscernible symbols to his eyes. "Slaves were not permitted to read. I never learned."

"It's not too late to learn, Fenris," Hawke said softly. She kept the distance between them, offering no gesture like before. "It's quite a good book, actually."

Fenris didn't respond. He wanted to learn to read, even more so if Hawke was the one to teach him, but felt petty and needy if he admitted so. Instead, he dropped the book on the table again and turned to Hawke. His face was blank when he looked at her, giving away nothing. She gazed at him, mildly expectant.

"I will consider it," he muttered at last.

That's all I need, thought Hawke. She smiled at him reassuringly. "It's a date."


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

"It's a date."

Hawke cringed as she repeated the words in her head. _It's a date_? What in Maker's name possessed her to say something like _that_? She was a grown woman, not some dewy-eyed teenage girl chasing after a crush. She had tried to gauge Fenris' reaction as the words tumbled clumsily out of her mouth – but, as usual, he remained impassive. It had been too late to take the words back now, and she feared that stressing the point that she wasn't putting the moves on the elf would offend him in some way. A tense silence stretched between them as they made their way through Hightown and to the Viscount's Keep to Aveline. Hawke had insisted that Fenris remain her estate until she returned with their other companions, stating that he would practically be a sitting duck for slavers out in the open. Naturally, he had declined. After a moment's thought, Hawke could imagine it would be rather awkward for him, loitering about the state and most likely enduring a nosy Leandra asking if he was her daughter's suitor. Yes, it was better for him to come along.

She stole a glance at him now as they walked together. He was squinting slightly against the sun's glare, but other than that seemed a fraction more cheerful than usual. He wasn't glowering, at any rate, and this made Hawke wonder if this was him smiling. Come to think of it, she couldn't recall a time when she actually had seen him smile.

"Good day, Messere Hawke," greeted a Templar as she entered the Keep. Hawke nodded in acknowledgement and made her way down to Aveline's office.

The guardswoman was at her desk, poring over several sheets of paperwork, a look of utmost concentration of her face. She tapped the surface of her desk irritably with a pencil.

Hawke cleared her throat tentatively. "Aveline?"

Her brow furrowed all the more at the interruption, but softened slightly when she looked up and saw Hawke and Fenris enter. "Good morning. What do I owe this pleasure?"

Hawke glanced up at Fenris, waiting for him to explain. He shrugged indifferently, then explained briefly the situation.

"I would like to stress that I would rather not have guards patrolling outside of the mansion," he added, a slightly threatening undertone to his voice. "It would attract far too much attention, should Hadriana or others come to claim me."

Aveline frowned. "But you are free now, why would they bother coming after you after all this time?"

Fenris fixed her with a sharp stare. "You do not know Danarius like I do."

The guardswoman shrugged, deciding not to press the matter. "If you need me on this," she said, now addressing Hawke, "I'll be at your estate shortly. I have another matter to attend to before I do."

Hawke nodded. She was curious, but knew better to pry. Instead, she exited the Keep with Fenris close behind to rally the others.

* * *

"We could go for a direct approach," suggested Isabela when Hawke relayed the situation to her companions. Hawke met Fenris's eyes from the other side of the library. He raised his eyebrows and have her a 'what-did-I-tell-you?' look.

"Wouldn't that give Hadriana a chance to get Fenris?" Hawke asked the room at large. "We go into the fray, a battle ensues – it'd be a good distraction."

"We could just go ourselves and leave Fenris here," said Aveline. Her eyes drifted to Merrill, who was sat cross-legged on the floor playing with Torch.

"No," Fenris stated blandly. "I have to go. It is what she wants – if I am not there otherwise, you may not find her."

Aveline frowned. "But you said you heard a rumour where she was. You aren't sure yourself."

"I know Hadriana, and you are forgetting that she is a powerful mage. She will be able to conceal herself otherwise. She will only let you find her if she wants to be found."

"So you're saying we should use you as bait?" asked Hawke, her eyes wide.

"I think that's a good idea," agreed Anders, speaking up for the first time since they had all been there.

Fenris glared at the mage. "That is what I was implying, yes."

There was a pause, in which everyone considered the possible approaches and outcomes. All, it seemed, except for Merrill.

"Hawke," said the Dalish elf suddenly, "why did you call your dog 'Torch'?"

Hawke smiled at her fondly. "Because me and Bethany got lost in the woods around Lothering once, and he tracked the way back home. She said that he led the way, like a torch."

"That was very clever of her," Merrill said happily as she rolled a ball for the mabari to chase.

"So we are to use Fenris as a lure," said Aveline, who hadn't been listening to Merrill and clearly trying to get facts straight. "When do we strike?"

The group turned their attention to Fenris for his answer. He seemed momentarily startled that all eyes were on him.

"Tonight," he said simply. "It would be unwise to dally."

There were murmurs of agreement.

"We will come to you, Fenris," Aveline told the elf firmly. Surprisingly, the elf didn't argue. He merely nodded at the ground.

"Who's for a drink then?" called Isabela cheerfully. Exasperated groans met her proposal.

"It's a tad early to be drinking, Rivaini," sighed Varric, rolling his eyes.

Isabela grinned. "I'll make it interesting – whoever beats me at Wicked Grace, I'll buy a round of drinks for everybody. Deal?"

"What can I say?" Varric chuckled. "You know me so well."

Isabela tipped the dwarf a roguish wink and they began to leave.

"Coming, Hawke?" asked the pirate.

"I think I'd better stay sober," grinned Hawke. "Thanks anyway."

"What about the rest of you?"

Aveline sighed and rolled her eyes – this was answer enough. Merrill leapt up happily, practically skipping out of the estate library, leaving behind a disappointed looking Torch. The mabari nuzzled his toy ball sadly before curling up in front of the fire.

"I'll be there in a minute," Anders assured her. He cast a furtive look at Fenris, who was now leaning against a pillar and staring at a spot on the wall.

"Hurry up, Blondie, you need to win your money back!" Varric called out jovially as the group left Hawke's mansion.

The mage edged towards Hawke, who looked distinctly hassled.

"Are you alright?" he asked softly, laying a comforting hand on her shoulder. She looked up at him and smiled unsteadily.

"I'm okay, Anders, I'm just concerned that's all." She contemplated the elf, who was now shooting Anders dirty looks.

"I'm here for you, you know," he whispered gently, his face close to hers. He did his best to prevent himself from pecking her affectionately on her cheek. Instead, he wrapped his arm around her shoulder and squeezed her reassuringly. He was glad when she didn't pull away, and felt her nod against his chest. He smelled of lavender and other medicinal herbs – it was comforting. "I'll be going back to the clinic now. I'll see you tonight?" he added, releasing her.

"Of course," she said firmly.

He waved as he left, which she returned. Fenris glared at the mage as he departed, and continued doing so even when he had gone. What point was he trying to prove?

"Is everything okay, Fenris?" Hawke asked the elf now.

"Fine," he said, almost defiantly.

"It's okay for you to be afraid, you know," she said soothingly.

"_I am not afraid_," he snapped.

Hawke reeled, taken aback. He regretted his sharp response immediately, even more so when she surveyed him through eyes of stone. "Is this how you thank everyone who tries to help you?" she asked coldly, having just about enough of his shitty attitude. Usually, she found his broody, tough demeanour appealing and somewhat exciting – but right now, she wasn't in the mood. She was exhausted, and needed a long bath to mellow out her tired muscles and nerves.

Fenris's expression softened a little. "I – I didn't mean –" He broke off, faltering slightly as she raised her eyebrows and crossed her arms, unimpressed. "I'm sorry for sounding ungrateful." He blushed as he said these words, having never said them to anyone who wasn't Danarius or Hadriana. The phrase sounded strange when he spoke it.

"Apology accepted," she said coolly, though she didn't look as pissed off as before. "Maybe you should relax at the Hanged Man before later."

The elf instantly took this as his dismissal. He nodded, turning to leave. "Of course."

"Thank you, Hawke," he said sincerely, turning around to glance at her before stepping out of the front door to Hightown. He closed the door behind him without waiting for a response.

Hawke sighed heavily and rubbed the bridge of her nose, exasperated. Sometimes she just didn't know where she stood with the elf; he changed moods more frequently than Isabela changed bed partners.

"Can I get you anything to drink, messere?" asked Bodahn, a note of concern in his voice. "Maybe draw you a bath?"

"You just read my mind," she smiled wearily at the dwarf. "A bath wouldn't go amiss."

Bodahn bowed deeply and ambled off whilst Hawke made her way into the kitchen, wondering if her mother would need any help with dinner. Leandra stood at one of the counters, chopping up various root vegetables. She looked round as her daughter entered the kitchen.

"Hello, dear."

"I don't think I'll be home for dinner, mother," Hawke said, leaning against the counter whilst Leandra sliced away.

"Saving the city again, love?"

Hawke laughed dryly. "Something like that. It's more a favour for a friend."

"Is it for that elf you've been spending so much time with?"

"How did you know?"

Leandra gave her a knowing look. "Just a lucky guess." She turned back to her vegetables. "He seems nice enough."

Hawke snorted. "He can be."

"What about Anders?"

"Are we really going to discuss my love interests?" asked Hawke, her brow crinkling.

"Not if you prefer we didn't. I just want a bit of insight to your personal life before I start inviting noble families round with suitors for you."

"What?" Hawke yelped, practically jumping a foot in the air in shock. "I'd rather not get married just yet, thank you!"

"Oh, tosh," said Leandra pacifyingly as she tipped the chopped vegetables into a pot. "You're young and beautiful, it's about time you met a nice young man."

Hawke gaped open-mouthed at her mother in disbelief. For once, she was speechless. The latter appeared to have noticed nothing out of the ordinary and began humming a slow tune, rifling through the cupboards for spices.

"Your bath is ready, messere," announced Bodahn, poking his head around the kitchen door.

Glad for a reason to be out of her mother's company, Hawke made her way hastily to the bathroom. Was her mother being serious? She wasn't ready for marriage or starting a family! Some would say that she had a duty to the city, and she was more than happy to use that as an excuse to not shack up with some other rich snob from Hightown who cared about the crumbling economy more than his wife. No, thank you!

Hawke lowered herself steadily into the steaming soapy water, closing her eyes and relishing in the heat as relief washed over her. For a precious short time, she was alone, no one to disturb her and she could forget about the chaotic outside world as she relaxed. Bodahn had been gracious enough to pour in some of Leandra's fancy soap. It smelled of dainty flowers with an underlying trace of musk, and was a scent that always reminded her of her mother. Hawke's mind drifted back lazily to the aspect of suitors again. It wasn't a husband she wanted – it was companionship. She thought how divine it would be to come back to her estate with someone lying in her bed, waiting for her, and have them be the first thing she saw in the morning. It was also the 'no-strings' notion – the idea of have someone to sleep with and have release was also appealing, but she knew that feelings would worm their way in and make it complicated. Maybe she wanted it to be complicated? Maker, she didn't even know what she wanted for breakfast tomorrow, never mind anything further than a week away.

Her mind wandered elsewhere, and finally came to rest on Fenris's face. Her eyes snapped open and she tried to rid her thoughts of him, but to no avail. What was so bad in thinking about him? Sure, he was attractive, and surely it was acceptable to _think_ about good-looking people and not have intentions to be with them? Hawke wondered to herself. On the contrary, she wouldn't mind having relations with him – but the blighted elf was too damn proud and moody it would probably be near impossible. She closed her eyes again, undressing him with her mind.

_Was having these impure thoughts unacceptable?_

Who gives a damn, she told herself, it's not as if anyone has a window to inside my mind.

Chuckling, Hawke proceeded to let her imagination run wild as she mentally took off his armour, his undergarments. She thought of kissing him, touching his naked body and slid her hand down her stomach to a private area. She rubbed herself in circular motions for a time, bringing herself back from the brink of orgasm to enjoy the sensations. She suppressed moans as she inserted one, two, three fingers into herself. It had been a long time since she had had this sort of relief.


	6. Chapter 6

_Warning - smut alert!_

Chapter Six

Hadriana lay dead in the corner of the slaver caverns, her corpse slumped and her eyes as blank and devoid of feeling as they had been when she was alive. Fenris stood above her, his face alive with hatred and his fist crushing her heart. He stepped back, and for moment did or said nothing out of shock. He had finally defeated Hadriana, but her last words still echoed in his brain.

_He had a sister._

Was she lying? She had every reason to. Here, a former slave had escaped and her life had been in his hands; she probably would've said whatever she needed to in order to live. Was it something worth following? He had no recollection of any life he had before, the creation of his lyrium markings had wiped away all memories. Yet the idea of having some form of family appealed to him. He'd been alone for so long.

"Maybe we should leave," Hawke said softly, resting a hand on his shoulder.

"Do not comfort me," snarled Fenris, yanking his shoulder away from her touch. He didn't need or want her sympathy. The deed was done, that was that. "You saw what happened here! What does magic touch that it doesn't spoil?"

He left the others in a state of surprise as he fled the caverns, blindly running away. Where he was going was anybody's guess – but then a thought occurred to him so suddenly it was startling. After everything that had happened, who'd been there for him? Offered him friendship and a sense of security? Hawke stood by him even when she knew perfectly well what he was capable of, his past, nearly everything that had happened and was wrong in his life. And still, she remained. He had been a fool, and blind to the doe-eyed looks she gave him when she thought he wasn't looking. He had ached to be with someone for so long, to feel as if he had a purpose in this world, not realising that the person who made him come to terms with his existence and new life was right in front of him all this time. Would she accept him, even now, or was it too late?

Fenris waited in the foyer of her estate, pacing back and forth, back and forth, becoming more restless by the minute. Had he truly offended her? Had she sought comfort in another's arms, namely Anders?

Fenris fumed at the thought of the mage, chewing the inside of his cheeks continually as he awaited Hawke to arrive home. He urged to sweep her up in his arms, whisper sweet nothings into her ear and carry her to bed. He just hoped that he hadn't blown his chance.

As he paced what felt like the hundredth lap of the foyer, the mansion door opened and Hawke stepped inside. He stopped still and watched her, waiting for her reaction. She stood equally as still, as though disbelieving he was truly there.

"I've… been thinking about what happened with Hadriana," he began, avoiding her eyes and keeping the distance between them. "I took my anger out on you, and undeservedly so. I am sorry."

There was a pregnant pause in which she surveyed him. She stepped forward a couple of paces. He felt the urge to retreat, but did not.

"I had no idea where you went. I was concerned." Hawke's tone was sincere, but there was a slight bite of annoyance in her voice.

"I... needed to be alone…" Fenris drifted off, his eyes looking everywhere except at her. He breathed deeply to steady himself. "This hate, it dogs me wherever I go, I thought I'd gotten away from it…"

Still she continued to watch him impassively.

"Ah, I didn't come here to burden you further." He walked past her to leave, and couldn't help the lump that had risen in his throat.

"You don't need to leave." She spoke finally, and very quietly he wasn't sure he heard it. She placed a hand on his forearm to prevent him leaving. The touch came as a surprise, and he rounded on her, snarling. Her expression remained neutral; she didn't shy away or look angry. Instead, she flung her arms around his neck and kissed him so hard he was sure his lips would bruise. They broke apart, and she pushed him against the wall, continuing to kiss him again. His heart skipped a beat as she forced entry into his mouth, their tongues massaging each other. He moaned into their kiss, and reeled from surprise when she broke away for the second time.

She leaned up towards his ear and trailed her tongue from the lobe to the tip. He shuddered in anticipation – even more so when she whispered into it, her voice lustful and heavy with obvious want.

"My bedroom. Now." It was a command, and one that he was more than obliged to obey for once.

She took him by the hand and led him through the hall, which for once was empty as everyone in the estate had retired for the evening. His hand was slightly clammy, both with nerves and anticipation as they slipped into her room. Hawke shut the door gently, and turned to the elf, smiling lustfully and brushing by him. He shuddered at the brief touch, and instantly knew that she knew how she was making him feel. The room was nearly pitch dark excluding a few candles scattered around that had nearly burnt down to stumps. Wordlessly, she made her way over to the fireplace, crouching down as she spark a flame on the logs. Fenris watched the way she bend over, her leather armour pulling tighter across her round backside. Suddenly, the room was swathed in heat and light from the fire, setting the mood off even more perfectly.

Hawke glided towards him, almost ethereal as she unbuckled her armour, keeping eye contact with him as she did so. He remained rooted to the spot, not daring to move or blink in case this perfect vision vanished before his eyes. The silence in the room was almost deafening – but he was determined not to be the one that broke it. Honey eyes bored into olive green, both pairs dancing in the firelight. Finally, she was down to her undergarments. The elf slowly dragged his gaze away from her face, and allowed his eyes to feast upon her beautiful visage. She began kissing him once more, though softly this time, as she began undoing his armour. He helped her, rather hastily, keen to be naked with this woman. She seemed to enjoy teasing him, however; when he, too, was down to only his breeches she ceased touching him immediately and stepped away from him.

Painfully slow, Hawke unclasped her bra, allowing her ample breasts to come free. They remained pert, and lifted as she raised her arms to undo her hair from its usual bun. Dark locks hung around her shoulders, a couple of strands hiding her nipples.

"Do you want me naked?" she whispered, cocking her head to one side like a curious puppy.

"Yes," he replied instantly, his voice hoarse. He advanced towards her and hooked his thumbs into her panties. He paused for moment before he ripped the fabric down her legs. They lay at the bottom of her feet, and she flicked them away with her foot, not knowing or caring where they went.

Maker's breath, she was flawless. Here she stood in unspoiled glory, in front of a man who had thought about her almost constantly since the night they first met.

Hawke now tucked her fingers into the waistband of his breeches, closing the distance between them. Fenris groaned at the friction of his breeches on his length, until finally she obligingly freed his cock from its prison. It stood fully erect and rock hard. She smiled, apparently impressed by its vast length and girth, continuing to look up at him through her lashes as she took it in her hand. He gasped at the sudden pressure; even more so as she gently led him to her bed, shaft still in hand. His eyes feasted on her once again as she sat atop her bed, patting the space beside her for him to join her.

But that wasn't how he was going to do things.

Fenris swooped down upon her unexpectedly, smashing his mouth against hers with such fierceness she was forced to lay on her back. Her fingers tangled in his snow white hair as he pushed his tongue into her mouth. Their bodies grinded against each other as they groaned into their kiss.

He trailed his fingers over her face, down her neck and between her breasts, their mouths still welded together. The elf made his fingers dance across her stomach, finally onto her pussy. She inhaled sharply through her nose as he proceeded to rub her in fast, circular motions. Steadily, he touched the moisture of her hole with his fingertips. Maker, she was so wet and ready. He pushed two fingers into her at once, in and out, slowly, until her hips bucked up to make him go faster. Fenris smiled as they continued to kiss. He slipped in another finger and began massaging her g-spot. She ceased kissing him with a sound like a plunger nearly almost at once he began to touch this vital area, letting out a low, guttural moan. He began to feel her convulse slightly, nearing orgasm, and he stopped abruptly. He wanted to be in control. He _was_ in control, and he liked it. He smirked mischievously as Hawke looked scandalised and he pulled his fingers out.

She opened her mouth to complain, but Fenris inserted his fingers into her mouth for her to taste herself. Looking into his eyes, she sucked on them, giving him an idea what she had in store for him. The elf felt his cock flex – though he wasn't ready to give in yet.

He kissed her briefly, and could taste the salty tang of her moisture. Painstakingly steady, Fenris began to trail kisses down her neck. He paused when he got to her breasts, sucking and biting each nipple in turn, causing her to cry out. This spurred him on more. Again, he made his way down to her pussy. He could see it glistening with her arousal, and he ached to taste her first-hand. His hot breath felt like something otherworldly as he teased her. He flicked his tongue across her clit, and heard her sigh, half-exasperated, half-delighted. At last, he gave in; he began to eat and lick her as if it was his last meal on Thedas, enjoying her sighs and whimpers, lapping at her juices. This time, he allowed her to come, and felt her convulse on his mouth.

"Oh, Fenris!" she practically yelled, arching her back as her orgasm came in waves. The sound of her yelling his name in such ecstasy made him tingle. Now it was his turn.

Before she had barely caught her breath, Fenris had already spat into his hand and massage the saliva around his shaft for lubrication. He rubbed the head on her pussy before he entered her slowly. When he made sure she was content with his length and girth, his thrusts became faster and sharper. The feel of her walls around his length felt better than he ever could've imagined. He pulled out quickly, feeling his own orgasm near, and turned her over. Obediently, she crouched on all fours and shouted out when he pushed into her again and again, even faster and more urgently.

Suddenly, a picture entered his mind. A small, white-haired elf child was laughing and playing in a wooded area, another elf, red-headed this time, at its side. They were sparring with sticks, and had such looks of contentment on their faces it was as if nothing else mattered in the world.

The image vanished as soon as it appeared, and he was back in Hawke's bedroom, fucking her tight hole and making her scream. Choosing not to dwell on the vision right now, he forced his cock into her one last time as she came again the same time as him. He let out a deep moan, feeling his hot seed spill inside of her and her walls convulse around him for a second time.

He pulled himself out of her and lay back on the bed, completely and utterly spent. She joined him, panting, resting her head on his chest and tracing his lyrium markings with a finger. He flinched slightly as she did so.

"Do they hurt?" she asked softly, obviously concerned.

He shook his head, temporarily unable to speak as he considered the image again in his mind. What was it and what did it mean?

Realisation hit him like a heavy brick. _Was that snowy haired child him_?

No – it couldn't be. But it was too much of a coincidence _not_ to be.

"Is everything alright, Fenris?"

Hawke's voice sounded distant. She was looking at him, worried. "It wasn't that bad, was it?"

He got up and strolled to the fire. "It's not that, it was fine." He sighed, annoyed with himself. "No, that is insufficient. It was better than anything I could have ever dreamed."

She relaxed slightly. This had clearly been worrying her, but now there was something else, as well. "You can talk to me, Fenris."

He pondered telling her the truth. Surely she deserved that much.

"I began to remember my life before… just flashes." He took a deep breath to steady himself, overwhelmed. It was all too much. "This… it's too fast, I cannot do this." He turned away from her and gazed into the fire, mesmerised by the dancing flames.

"I'm here to help you." She rose from the bed and wrapped her robe around herself.

"No, you cannot," he replied, beginning to dress. He then strolled to the other side of his room and buckled himself into his armour. The further away she was, the better. "I do not want to hurt you…"

He met her eyes across the room. She wore a pained expression, her brow crinkled slightly and her eyes sparkling with unshed tears. This did not make things any easier.

"Trust me when I say it is better like this." Fenris ached to cup her face in his hands and assure her everything was going to be okay – though sometimes you have to be cruel to be kind. He resisted touching her, even looking at her now and turned to leave.

"Forgive me," was all he could manage to say as he left her room, leaving her, leaving unsaid thoughts and feelings and Maker knows whatever else between them. He thought that she would chase after him. Or rather, he hoped she would. He wished she would shout at him, call him all the vile names she could think of, because he truly deserved no better. Even if she did do that, it would make his leaving somewhat more bearable. He would rather have her angry and hating him than in emotional turmoil.

But she didn't. Instead, she slumped back onto her bed, tears threatening to fall from her eyes. She blinked them away, adamantly showing no weakness – although why she was faking this brave façade when no-one was around she didn't know. Maybe out of instinct. She never allowed her emotions to show if she could help it.

Resigned to the feelings of confusion and misery weighing heavily in the pit of her stomach, she lay back on her bed and drew her knees up into the foetal position. She allowed the tears to fall, just this one time, yearning to feel something else instead of sorrow. As she wept, a weight on her bed alerted her attention. For some stupid reason she thought Fenris had come back – but it was only Torch. Furious with herself for hoping, she allowed the mabari to lay next to her. Torch licked at the salty tears on her face, and she let out a weak giggle. A dog as a source of comfort served much better than a person – her wouldn't ask awkward questions, or tell her stupid things like 'everything will be okay'. Hawke wrapped her arm around her mabari, her face pressed against his fur to stifle her sobs. He smelled of dog soap and home.

She remained awake for what felt like hours, and drifted off into a restless sleep as the embers of the fire began to die, much like the fire of hope and passion she had held inside herself only a few hours before.


	7. Chapter 7

_A / N - I think i'm getting through these chapters pretty quickly! thanks to all those who have viewed, i'd also appreciate positive feedback/ criticism!_

Songs that inspired this chapter:

_Paramore - Emergency_  
_Wye Oak - Family Glue_  
_Ladyhawke - The Quick & The Dead_

Chapter Seven

The next few days were not fun for Hawke.

She wandered around the estate in her bedclothes one morning, dark rings hanging under her eyes and her hair didn't fall with the elegant grace it usually had. Instead it stuck matted against her head, un-brushed. Leandra wasn't home; she had gone for a day of shopping, and was assumed to be absent until the evening, so Hawke didn't even have her mother to confide into. She wasn't as close to Leandra as she liked, but it wouldn't have gone amiss to have some decent company in the mansion rather than Bodahn. Not that she would tell the dwarf her innermost secrets, anyway.

Hawke made herself a cup of tea using tea leaves that had been imported especially from Seheron. The tea was strong, but delicious, and had a soft underlying taste of fruit. Maybe this would snap her out of her torpor. Or rather, she hoped. Perhaps she should call on Anders for something stronger.

She wondered idly of Carver. If he was still here, she knew that he would probably storm off to Fenris's mansion before she even had chance to open her mouth and tell him what was wrong. This made her smile slightly. Despite them fighting like cat and dog, their sibling love ran deeper. A pang of sorrow pierced her heart again as she thought about her dead brother. It had been years since he had died; while she had learnt to cope with his death, it didn't get any easier.

"Messere?"

Bodahn appeared in the kitchen a few seconds later. "You have a visitor."

"I'm not really in the mood for visitors today, Bodahn." Her voice sounded throaty from her extensive crying.

"On the contrary, messere, and forgive me for saying, but the boy and I rather thought you could do with cheering up." He bowed low, and retreated from the kitchen.

Hawke groaned inwardly. She valued his efforts, but she had no intentions on letting anyone see her in this mess. Worst of all, what if he'd assumed wrong and called _Fenris_ over?

The possibility made her feel nauseous. She hastened over to the back door to flee out of if necessary. However, she had barely undone one bolt when a pair of soft footsteps sounded behind her. She swung round and found herself looking at Anders, and released the breath she didn't realise she had been holding. His presence had never been more appreciated.

"Anders," she said hoarsely, visibly relaxing.

"Well, you've looked better, Hawke," he replied as way of greeting. His brow contracted with concern as he watched her flop down at the kitchen table.

"Tell me something I don't know," she muttered bitterly, draining the dregs of her tea. It hadn't helped at all.

The mage joined her at the table. He'd never seen her look so hopeless.

"Want to talk about it?"

"Not really." She sighed and held her face in her hands. "I just want to get blind drunk."

Though she had said this rather humourlessly, Anders chuckled. "That might not be the best idea."

She moved one of her hands and glared at him with one eye. "Don't tell me what is and what isn't a good idea. To be honest, I thought you were here to gloat about being right for once."

Oops. Maybe she shouldn't have said that. Anders didn't miss her bitter tone of voice as he surveyed her suspiciously.

"Right about what?"

"Nothing, forget I said anything," she said hastily, avoiding his eyes.

Anders paused. "It's about Fenris, isn't it?"

Well, no going back now. Hawke nodded once.

"What has that blighted elf done now?" the mage asked loudly. He made to get out of his seat but Hawke yanked him back.

"Don't you dare go shooting your mouth off," she hissed. "You know he would kill you as soon as look at you."

Anders noted the urgency in her voice, and instantly lowered his tone. "What happened, Hawke? I'm here for you." He reached across and squeezed her hand gently. This display of affection was almost enough to set her off crying again.

She swallowed a few times to steady herself. "He left me."

The words punctured the air between them. The blond mage did his utmost to keep his face impassive, even though he was fuming inside. Though he had always said – more to himself – that she could do better than the elf, Anders hated seeing her so miserable. It tore into his heart as she glanced distantly over his shoulder, her eyes puffy from the tears she had shed.

"Is there anything I can do?"

Hawke opened her mouth to decline, but instantly knew that would be foolish. What was she achieving moping around the mansion all day? It would be nice to have a friend to comfort her.

"Just stay with me, Anders."

* * *

It transpired that there wasn't much to do around the estate in the day. Hawke had adamantly refused to leave her home, but agreed that a good soak in the bath would do her some good. Anders was kind enough to fill the tub instead of Bodahn, magically heating the water to the perfect temperature. For once, the mage seemed keen to leave her alone and have time to herself while she relaxed amongst the bubbles, for which she was grateful. Afterward, they sat cross-legged on the floor in the estate library whilst Hawke did her best to teach Anders how to keep a poker-face whilst playing Wicked Grace. He also requested that Hawke show him how to beat Isabela and Varric – a near impossible feat that only happened due to chance.

"I'm bored of this," Hawke sighed as she collected up her playing cards. Then she had a sudden thought. "I challenge you to a sparring match, Anders."

He looked at her, shocked. "You're not serious?"

"Totally serious." She had an expression of determination on her face.

"But you… you're…" he trailed off, unable to find the words he wanted.

Hawke grinned fiendishly. "I'm a what, hm? A woman? Is that your excuse?"

"Well…"

"Anders, lest you forget who saved your ass countless times from bandits and such. Being a woman has nothing to do with my physical ability."

"I know!" he said, slightly wounded as she struck his ego. He ran his hand through his hair apprehensively.

"Then it's on. This will be fun," she promised, though there was a steely glint in her eye that he didn't like.

"Are you sure –"

He barely had a second's warning when she crouched into a predatory position and sprang towards him. Torch, who had been snoozing by the fire, leapt up, alarmed.

"It's okay, boy," soothed Hawke as she held Anders in a headlock. Her attention directed back to the mage. She twirled her body so his back was against her chest and she proceeded to pin him against the floor. She took one of his arms and twisted it behind his back so he couldn't move, though without hurting him. "Had enough?"

"I've not even started," grunted the mage. With his free hand, he cast a blast of telekinetic force so she was forced away from him.

"Hey! No magic!" she shouted, her hair whipped around her face.

"Sorry," he said, though he wasn't. He was prepared now, however, when she ran full-pelt towards him. He deflected her punches almost effortlessly. That is, until she dived around him and knocked behind his knees so that he was on the floor once again. Hawke sat with all her weight on his back, feeling him struggle fruitlessly beneath her.

"Okay, okay, yield," he gasped. She promptly leapt off him. "I need to breathe, you know!"

She shrugged apologetically and directed her attention to her mabari, who was watching the exchange with lazy eyes. Big mistake, as Anders grabber her shoulders and pushed her to the floor.

"I thought you yielded!" she complained.

"It was a ruse."

He grinned, and suddenly they were both aware how close their faces were to each other. She could smell lavender and elfroot on him, with the hint of the musky scent of a man. She couldn't help but trail her gaze from his amber eyes down to his plump lips…

Before either of them knew what was happening, their mouths met. Anders kissed with a tender affection, complying with her touch rather than forcing his tongue into her mouth. It was different to the way Fenris kissed – there was no urgency, no animal desire, only loving warmth.

_No. Stop thinking about Fenris._

But she couldn't help it. She was still riddled with heartache, and here she was making out with another man on her library floor; she felt traitorous somehow.

"Anders," she mumbled, their lips still pressed together delicately. His slender fingers were now combing through her dark hair. The sensation was pleasant. Fenris had never played with her hair like this…

"Anders," she said again, louder.

"Hmm?"

"I… don't think I can do this."

He pulled away from her, his eyes staring into hers, boring into the very depths of her soul. He looked mildly disappointed and ashamed.

"I am sorry," he breathed, sitting next to her. "That was… very insensitive of me."

"It's okay," she whispered, lifting herself up from the ground. She felt tears prick her eyes and blinked furiously. Anders's arm slid around her shoulder comfortingly and she buried her face into his shoulder, still refusing to cry and admit weakness. This will _not_ defeat her.

"I know you bear no warm feelings towards Fenris, but… it means a lot that you are here for me, and haven't resorted to speaking ill of him," Hawke finally said, her voice thick with emotion.

"It's about you," Anders replied, squeezing her gently. The words 'it always was' rang unspoken throughout the vast room. She seemed to sense this, though, as she looked up at him.

"I don't think I can do this _right now_," she stressed the last two words, "but I'm not ruling it out completely."

A spark of hope ignited in his chest. Was she saying what he thought she was? "Whenever you're ready," he assured her after a moment's pause.

"I just need time," she sighed. "It's only been a day. Maybe a few trips to the Blooming Rose would take my mind of things…"

"Don't joke about that," said Anders sharply.

"Oh, come on." Hawke pushed him playfully. "We should go together and make a bet who can get the most _outlandish_ service." She cackled at the look on his face. Maker, it was good to hear her laugh.

"Whatever helps," he shrugged, trying to sound indifferent.

"Come on," Hawke said, passing over his comment. She got to her feet and offered her hand to him. "Let's go to the Hanged Man and put that poker-face of yours to use."

Smiling, he allowed her to help him up. He waited while she put on her armour, and they left the mansion together, Hawke's heart significantly lighter than it had been at the start of the morning.


	8. Chapter 8

_A / N - sorry this chapter is a bit longer than the others, there was so much I wanted to include! Smut alert - although not as graphic as it has been! Also angst and hurt alert too!_ _More Fenris and Anders._

Songs that inspired this chapter

_Blink 182 - I Miss You_  
_Maroon 5 - She Will Be Loved_  
_Goo Goo Dolls - Iris_

Chapter Eight

The night was going better than expected.

Hawke arrived at the Hanged Man with Anders, and mostly everyone was there – except Fenris. Isabela winked as the pair entered together, to which Hawke rolled her eyes. It was a relief that the elf wasn't there. This way, he wouldn't assumed that she had moved on so quickly, and there wouldn't be an awkward air hanging between them.

"Everything all right, Hawke?" asked Varric in a low voice as she sat beside him. For some reason, he could nearly always tell if something was bothering her, and what it was.

"Fine, Varric."

On point, he leaned towards her slightly and lowered his voice even more. "I know it's the elf. Why do you think he's not here?" The dwarf gave her a knowing look when she neither approved nor declined this statement. "I'm here for you, Hawke."

She'd heard that a lot today. She nodded in acknowledgement, and began downing her pint of ale that had been set in front of her by Anders.

"Look at you go!" whooped Isabela as Hawke set down the now half-empty tankard. "A girl after my own heart. And Anders too!" The pirate's attention had now snapped to the mage who had soon followed suit and drank most of his pint, too.

"I enjoy a man who can hold his beer," she purred, leaning over the table towards him, showing off a large amount of ample bosom as she did so.

"You've enjoyed many, I expect," snorted Aveline, not even glancing up from her hand of cards. Isabela chose to ignore here and began stroking Anders's forearm.

Anders coughed nervously as he tried to avoid looking at Isabela's cleavage – a difficult feat. "Is it just me or has it got warm in here..?"

The table laughed. Even Hawke had to join in. Honestly, she didn't feel any resentment towards to Rivaini as she flirted, despite sharing a more-than passionate kiss with him earlier. This was normal behaviour on Isabela's part, along with the fact Hawke was still nursing a broken heart after Fenris. Her breath hitched in her throat as she thought of him, and distracted herself by swallowing the rest of her ale, abruptly vacating her seat to get another. Maybe a couple of shots of rum while she was at it.

The bar wasn't as crowded as usual, allowing her to gain access to the bar easily. However, this she still didn't notice the tall, lithe figure approach her.

"Hawke." The voice was low, gravelly, and she recognised it straight away.

She swung round and saw Fenris standing an arm's length away from her. His face was scrunched up in – sadness?

"What?" she spat, anger and hurt bubbling up inside her, fists clenched. His brow contracted even more, this time in confusion at her tone of voice. She felt as if a metal spike had been driven into her heart. Thought surely he couldn't have expected anything else considering what had happened only _the night before_?

He struggled with words, uncharacteristically so. "How are you?" came tumbling out of his mouth.

She raised an insolent eyebrow, not bothering to grace him with a response and turned back to Corff who had now supplied her with more ale and three shots of rum for good measure. To cover the silence, Hawke downed the rum in quick succession, feeling her throat burn and go straight to her head. At least it was better than what she _had_ been feeling.

"I don't wish for things to be awkward between us."

"A little bit late for that," she told him coldly, her back still turned away.

"Hawke," he said again, almost pleading. He laid a hand on her arm, trying to make her look at him. She suppressed shivering at his touch. "I regret what happened. Let us continue being friends –"

"_Friends_?" she said incredulously finally facing him.

"Companions, then," he corrected himself, an abrupt return to his usual surly manner.

"I need my own space," she told him coolly, standing on her tip-toes to face him straight in the eye.

He opened his mouth to speak, when another voice sounded from the stairs.

"She said to leave her alone, elf," Anders called, making his way over and his face like thunder. Great. The last thing Hawke needed now was fisticuffs in the blighted Hanged Man.

"I was not talking to you, _abomination_," Fenris snarled as the two men squared up to each other.

"Hurt her even more and I will make sure it's the last thing you ever do," Anders whispered dangerously. Fenris rounded on Hawke.

"The mage knows what happened between us?" the elf practically roared, earning the attention of many patrons, including Corff the barman.

Hawke dithered. Way to go, Anders.

"Your silence speaks volumes." Fenris narrowed his eyes at her, devoid of any positive feeling. She felt like what they had before that moment was mere fantasy.

And with that, the elf turned on his heel and stormed out of the inn, slamming the door behind him.

"Anders, let me speak to him," Hawke begged of the mage now. "_Please_," she stressed as he started to follow.

Hawke hurtled herself out of the tavern, slightly drunk. She couldn't let him leave on this note, believing she hated him. Rain had started to fall hard, bouncing off the ground as it did so. Through the watery haze, she spotted Fenris rounding a corner.

"Fenris!" she shouted, but he couldn't possibly hear her through this. Instead, she gave chase, and promptly bumped into him, then realising his elven ears was more acute than a humans'.

"What?" he asked of her. His voice still contained its venomous quality. "Gone and sought comfort with the abomination have you?"

"If you remember, _you_ were the one who left _me_!" she screamed. He looked at her. Maker, even his stupid impassive look was enough to spur her on shouting. "And no, I have _not_ gone running to Anders like you so think! How _dare_ you imply me to be some kind of scarlet woman!"

Without realising what she was doing, she shoved him hard into the chest so that he hit a wall behind him. He grunted but still didn't speak. Her hair was a dripping wet sheet now, stuck to her scalp and neck. The rain disguised her anguish as raindrops trickled down her cheeks along with her tears. She didn't care anymore. She just wanted the hurt to stop. She wanted him to love her back. This indifference of which he gazed at her tore at her soul.

He walked towards her, but she caught him hard in the chest again. It wouldn't have hurt much seeing as he wore his armour constantly, though it made her feel somewhat better to take out her feelings on him. He seemed more than willing to take the hits for her – which infuriated her even more. She _wanted_ him to fight back, to have a reason to hurt him physically for all the emotional damage he had done to her.

"Get away from me," she snapped. "I want to hate you, Fenris, for what you have done to me, but I can't! Do you want to know why?"

The elf frowned, and shook his head an infinitesimal amount.

"Because I love you!" she yelled. "Or I thought I did. Now I just want to fucking punch you in the face for the other night!"

"You should hate me," he stated in a monotone, only just audible above the pouring of the rain. "I deserve nothing more."

"Are you not listening to me?" Her voice grew louder and louder with every word until she felt like she had stripped the skin from her throat. "I can't! I… I just can't…" Her words dwindled off into nothing as she finally succumbed to the misery fighting up inside her. She tried to say something else, but no words would come. She remained rooted to the spot in the ice cold rain, her honey eyes empty as she gazed at the man before her.

He wanted to hold her. Maker, he wanted to hold her so much, but that would endorse everything she had just said to him, everything she felt, and would go against everything that had occurred the previous night. He didn't deserve her. Even after she had screamed at him, pushed him, threatened to hit him, he still wasn't worthy of her or her affections. All he wanted was to be happy for a small while, but now that had turned sour. Instead, he resigned to feeling worthless. He was insignificant in this world; he felt even more so as this woman stood in front of him. If she hated him, this would make things so much better, and they could resort to curt greetings and professional companionship – even one day friendship. Of course she didn't hate him, and this made the whole situation harder. In a way, he wanted to do everything in his power to coerce her to think negatively of him. What would that achieve? It would only drive a bigger wedge between them now. They travelled together, it didn't need to be more awkward than it already was.

He desperately wanted to tell her that he was sorry, to sweep her off her feet, take her home and dry her off. Instead, he turned away from her, leaving her bedraggled in Lowtown. For the first time in his life, hot tears of shame, guilt and regret prickled at the back of his eyes. He only let them fall when he reached his home.

* * *

"Hawke! What in Maker's name happened to you?" gasped Isabela as Hawke finally wandered back into Varric's suite. She felt numb, and couldn't even remember walking there.

"I got caught in the rain," she said lamely, standing in the doorway.

The pirate rushed over to her, genuinely concerned, followed by Merrill. Aveline raised from her seat too, but she dithered awkwardly in the background, not quite sure what to do.

"Come on, we need to get you dried off," coaxed Merrill, leading Hawke with one hand while Isabela took hold of the other. Before she got dragged off to Isabela's suite, Hawke cast a meaningful look at Anders with a nod. He could explain.

"What were you doing out in the rain?" asked Isabela, completely astounded at her stupidity.

Hawke remained silent. It hurt too much to think, never mind speak of it.

_To the Void with Fenris! _Though this easier said than done. Sorrow tugged at her heart every time she thought of him.

In the pirate's room, the two women began gathering towels and linens as Hawke sat helplessly on the edge of the bed. She whimpered pathetically as she began to cry again, her eyes unfocused.

"Fenris," she choked out, not realising she had said his name aloud. Maker, she needed him to fill this gaping hole in her heart, her soul.

Isabela, always sharp as tack, swirled round when she heard Hawke speak. "What about him?"

Merrill had turned to listen, too, a pile of towels held in her frail arms. Great. No going back now.

With great difficulty, and through much sniffling, gulping and tears, Hawke managed to tell them the situation, starting at the beginning.

"Oh, sweetie, I know it's hard," said Isabela soothingly, as Hawke laid her head against her chest comfortably. "It will get better – though I don't suggest coping with it how I did. Maker's breath, I ordered by husband to be assassinated by Antivan Crows."

Hawke giggled weakly while Merrill looked scandalised. "Well that's not much better!"

"I was joking, kitten," lied Isabela easily. Merrill seemed relieved.

The two women then proceeded to peel Hawke's clothes of her, the swathing her in towels. Merrill also began sponging cold water at her face to reduce the blotchy swelling. Hawke felt a sudden rush of affection towards the both of them.

"I know this isn't the best time to say this, but Maker your tits are ravishing, Hawke," observed Isabela, a mildly hungry look in her eye.

Hawke began to laugh. Not the false chuckles she had produced so far, but a full on gut-wrenching guffaw.

"Glad I amuse you," muttered the pirate, pretending to be offended but was grinning. "I'll get Anders up here to dry your clothes with his fancy-ass magic." She left the room, leaving the door open ajar.

"Thanks for doing this, Merrill," Hawke said softly, as the Dalish elf was bustling around the room.

"Oh, it's no trouble Hawke, I just wish you were feeling better," she gushed. "It's not often we see you cry – it's a little bit scary."

Hawke smiled fondly at her honesty. Bless her. "We all have our moments. Just don't go telling everyone how upset I was, okay?" She couldn't bear it if Fenris knew how much he got to her – or any of the others at that.

The mage nodded, blushing slightly. She jumped as Anders came into the room, practically throwing the door of its hinges. He cast one look of pity at Hawke before he found a pile of sodden clothes lay over a chair. He muttered a few well-chosen words and steam began to rise from the garments. Moments later, they were bone dry, and he immediately went over to the bed and sat next to Hawke on the edge.

He didn't say anything, nor did her, and he only squeezed her hand reassuringly.

"I know you care, Anders, but I think Hawke would rather like some privacy while she got dressed," Isabela told him firmly. "Though we all know you're dying to see her naked."

Hawke suppressed a giggle. The pirate simply couldn't help herself.

"I'll see you later," Anders whispered, then got up and left – rather begrudgingly.

After she had dressed, Aveline and most others firmly told Hawke to go home and get some rest.

"I don't think this ale is going to be any more help to you tonight," Varric said seriously. "We'll drop in on you tomorrow to see how things are."

Hawke nodded mutely and bade everyone goodnight, earning a few sympathetic looks as she left. Though she had barely walked out onto the streets, Anders had appeared behind her, panting slightly.

"Allow me to walk you home," he suggested softly. She nodded and they departed.

They walked in silence for some time, and neither spoke until they had reached the Hawke estate.

"How're you feeling?" the mage asked tentatively.

"Like a high dragon has eaten me, spat me back up and taken an enormous shit on my remains."

Anders laughed nervously. "That's… something."

She managed a weak smile. "Would it be cliché of me to ask you in for a nightcap?"

"Not at all, but Justice doesn't approve of me being drunk, so I shouldn't have any more."

"Me neither, but I have other things." She turned a key in the lock of her home, allowing him to step inside. He did so obligingly. A fire was burning in the hall as they entered, with Torch in his customary position next to it. He raised his head, then bounded over to his owner, nuzzling and licking her thoroughly.

"Okay, okay, down boy," she chuckled, scratching him behind his ears. The dog leant against her leg, enjoying the affection. "Do you want a cup of tea, Anders?"

He smiled gently. "Actually, I'm okay."

She nodded, shifting her weight from one foot to the other uneasily. He watched her carefully. What was she thinking? They remained in silence for a time, the only sounds the crackling of the fire and Torch's panting. He wish he had learned mind-reading spells, or _something_…

Though suddenly it didn't matter what she was thinking, and he no longer cared, for a split second later she was right in front of him, gazing up at him through molten amber eyes. He knew what was going to happen next, and was a fool not to stop it.

For the second time that day, her mouth was on his. He hesitated for a fraction of a second, recalling what she said earlier, and that she wasn't ready just yet. But she pulled him closer, their bodies pressed together as their kiss intensified. She wasn't kissing him lustfully. On the contrary, she seemed to be kissing him with the kind of affection that she had been holding back, either with him or altogether. He pulled away first, his eyes flickering to the landing where her bedroom was.

"Not there," she whispered, breathing hard, "somewhere else."

Perplexed but compliant, he followed at her touch as she led him upstairs, but to the far end of the landing where he knew there were guest rooms. Odd. But he didn't question her.

The room was still very large even in comparison to Hawke's; there was a fireplace, like there was in every room of the house, and a double bed which donned covers that looked as if they'd never been slept in. Anders took it upon himself to light the dry logs on the hearth with a simple fireball spell. No point in making things complicated. He took Hawke up into his arms again, kissing her more fiercely as before. Maker, she tasted so good, like candies from the Hightown market. She lifted her hand and pulled the leather thong from his hair, causing strawberry blonde locks to fall free around his face.

"Your hair looks gorgeous when it's down," she breathed, running her fingers through it. He moaned and leaned towards her touch.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" he asked, cupping her face in his hand.

She nodded – perhaps a little too soon, too vigorously, but he didn't notice. To emphasise her point, she grasped the erection now forming through his breeches, causing him to moan for a second time. She squeezed it momentarily, then let go altogether, just to tease him.

Very soon, they were completely naked, their clothes and armour thrown here, there and everywhere about the room, uncaring. All the mattered to Anders now was the beautiful woman in front of him. His eyes feasted on her visage, taking in every strenuous detail – like the way her body was peppered with several scars, or how prominent her collarbones were, or even the wide curves of her hips. He drank her in, unable to declare fault with her. She led him over to the bed and lay down, the unused covers cold against her back, but nothing else mattered as Anders crouched over here, kissing her breasts and down her stomach. He massaged her private area for a time, slowly, allowing her to revel in the sensation before he pressed the tip of his length against her entrance and slowly pushed in. He began shallow, then pushed in deeper and deeper, a little bit faster until his balls made a slight slapping sound against her. He relished the groans she made, even more so as she began whispering dirty phrases for him to go faster, and how good his huge cock felt inside her.

This pace carried on for a time until Hawke steadily reached climax, her walls convulsing around Anders's shaft as he came too. Breathing hard, he lay next to her on the bed; her back against his chest. They lay like this for hours, unspeaking, until they finally drifted off into a restful slumber.


	9. Chapter 9

_A / N - i finished this chapter slower than i expected. i know there was some issues with Hawke in the previous chapter, so hopefully this will explain everything that has happened between her and Anders and, most importantly, why. Thanks for the feedback!_

Chapter Nine

Oh, Maker, it had been a bad idea, was her first thought when she awoke.

Hawke rose early in the unfamiliar room, her head pounding slightly from the alcohol the evening before. It took her a moment to assess her surroundings.

She was in the spare bedroom of her estate, and next to her lay a sleeping Anders, his hair fanned out on the pillow and his mouth slightly open as he snored softly. He looked divine. Their encounter was somewhat hazy in her mind as she remembered it. She hadn't been drunk exactly when they head sex.

No. That was the wrong word. It hadn't been sex. For the first time in her life, she had made love with somebody. As much as that phrase made her feel nauseous, that was what it had been. She recalled Anders's loving expression when he entered her, determined not to cause her discomfort and give the best he could. Which he had done, naturally. It was an overall exceedingly enjoyable experience – so had it really been such a bad choice? Why did she feel guilty?

Fenris's face appeared suddenly in her mind. Of course. That was why she felt weighed down. And the elf was the reason why she didn't want to sleep with Anders in her own room, knowing that it would smell, and remind her, of him. He was also one of the reasons what actually coerced her to bed the mage – not using him as excuse, more of a motive. She felt so numb after he had left, especially after their exchange in the rain, and yearned to feel something… She definitely knew that she wasn't using Anders to get back at Fenris – or was she? Even though it was an incredibly petty thing to do, she couldn't help but wonder if this will make him want her more, fight for her.

But she knew, in her hearts of hearts, that that was far-fetched idiocy. Fenris had made his feelings towards her and their night together abundantly clear. Besides, she would go and visit Anders one day and probably discover him with his heart ripped out his chest. Though the main reason was that Anders deserved better; so much more gratitude and reverence, similar to the way he had treated her, as opposed to being smugly shown off like a trophy purely to gain a reaction.

She gazed down at the mage now, his plump lips parted, and couldn't help but recall their tender kiss. She wrapped the duvet around herself more firmly, the bed now warm from their body heat, moving closer to the man next to her. Cautious, so as not to wake him, she gently pushed back a lock of hair from his face and proceeded to lay her head on his chest. His heartbeat had a therapeutic beat reminding her that he was real, alive, and hers for the moment. Tufty chest hairs tickled her cheek and she couldn't help but smirk against his chest.

"Why are you smiling?" asked Anders, opening a bleary eye.

"Just because of you," replied Hawke, planting a kiss on his pectorals.

"Was I really that good?" he enquired with something of a swagger, stroking her bare back.

She propped herself up to look at him, eyes glinting mischievously. "You were okay."

"You little minx, that's a downright lie and you know it!" he exclaimed, trying and failing to look affronted. "You were positively screaming out my name."

She hit him playfully with a pillow. "No, I wasn't!"

"Was too!" he said childishly, grabbing another pillow and swatting her with it.

They continued this vein for sometimes, laughing, until finally kissing and out of breath. Anders still had his faint aroma of herbs, but the scent of sleep that lingered gave Hawke some sort of comfort, though she couldn't place it.

"I think we should stay in bed all day," he whispered, nibbling her earlobe.

She moaned softly. "As much as I would like to, ser, there are matters to be attended to." She made to climb out of bed, but Anders pulled her back.

"Ser, is it?" he said huskily, then growled playfully. The sound was so unlike him, which turned her on all the more. She felt the heat between her legs but did her best to ignore it.

"Yes, and you need to get your lazy ass out of bed, _ser_," she told him, finally freeing herself and whipping the duvet off him, causing him to yelp. Her eyes lingered to the huge erection that now stood fully alert. Maker, what she wouldn't give to have that in her mouth right now.

Anders raised his eyebrows, smirking as he followed her gaze. He covered himself up with a corner of the blanket, trying his best to be modest. "Avert your eyes, wench."

She snorted, though remained smiling. "Come on, get up, we can't stay in here all day."

The mage huffed. He finally conceded defeat, pulling on his clothes after finding them in various corners of the room. He struggled lacing up his breeches as his erection refused to die down.

"Maker, damn it," he grunted, doing his utmost to tighten the strings. Hawke gazed at him fondly. What a guy he was. Surely he was a much better choice than Fenris?

Here he was, struggling with his breeches after spending the night with her. He hadn't fled, which Hawke was most apprehensive about; he had stayed over, and even allowed cuddling and play-fighting in the morning. Maybe she was crazy for wanting this, or maybe she was rebounding from her former lover. Who knew? Because she certainly didn't. All she knew was that this felt right. For now.

"Care to join me for breakfast, messere?" she asked sweetly when he was finally dressed.

Anders's stomach growled on cue. "I thought you were never going to ask."

* * *

Hawke entered the kitchen, a little bit surprised when her mother wasn't at the table nursing her usual cup of morning tea. Assuming that she had simply gone out for the day, Hawke began busying herself making porridge and bread rolls for breakfast.

"You know, I might stay over more often if you are going to make such a wonderful feast for me," Anders commented after they had both finished eating. "I don't get things like this in Darktown."

"I think I can work with that," Hawke smiled. Their contentment was short-lived, however, when a loud clattering noise sounded in the hall.

"Maker, can't I get two minutes peace around here?" Hawke muttered irritable, flouncing to the source of commotion. Bodahn was speaking with a petite elven woman, the latter of whom made a beeline straight for Hawke.

"Who are you?" Hawke eyed her suspiciously for a moment, then it clicked it the place. "Orana!" She now recognised the woman to be the elf from the ruins where Hadriana had been residing, and managed to escape barely with her life and the coin Hawke had generously given her to start anew.

Orana's hair was dishevelled and her lurid green eye shadow smudged with sweat and tears.

"Oh, oh, it was awful!" she wept, shaking, nearly unable to stand.

Concerned, Hawke led her over to a chair and sat her down gently. "What happened?"

"I was travelling through Lowtown this morning, and, and," Orana gulped, trying to calm herself, "some little street urchin attacked me down one of the alleys and stole all the coin you had given me." The elf dissolved into fresh sobs, holding her face in her hands. Bodahn watched from a distance, confused, and Anders had drifted from the kitchen now wearing an expression of utmost pity.

Hawke felt desperately sorry for her. She was partly inclined to give her more coin, but what if the same thing happened again? But then she was struck with inspiration.

"How would you like to work here, Orana, as my servant?" she asked the elf gently. "You will be paid like everyone else and given your own private quarters.

Orana stopped gulping and stared at Hawke with disbelief. "Do you mean that?"

Hawke nodded, smiling encouragingly. At this, the woman began weeping again, though this time with happiness and relief.

"You are t-too g-good to me, Mistress," she said. "I-it would be an honour."

"Very well. Bodahn, could you escort her upstairs and find her a suitable room?"

"Of course, messere." The dwarf began to lift Orana from her chair, her sobs now beginning to subside as she climbed the stairs.

Hawke sighed, somewhat wearily and slumped into the chair Orana had just vacated. Anders went over to her.

"Is everything alright?"

"Yes, Anders, I'm just worn out already and the day has just started." She pressed her knuckles to her eyelids to try and stem the headache that had begun.

"You did a good thing for that woman."

Hawke chuckled dryly. "I know. I'm good at fixing things for people." She couldn't help but keep the bitter tone out of her voice. She didn't regret helping Orana – on the contrary, she was pleased she did something good, but she wished that someone was there to fix things going on in _her_ life. Anders was a great comfort, but he could only do so much. She stole a glance at the mage now and felt a surge of affection for him. He was good for her, he could help fix her broken heart – at least, she liked to think he could. He had done a pretty good job so far.

She stood up and snuggled her face into his shoulder. He seemed momentarily taken aback, but embraced her all the same.

"I think I might take you up on the offer of staying in all day," she murmured, kissing his neck.

"Ah, I do need to go down to the clinic for a couple of hours first though." There was a trace of disappointment in his voice. "But I'll be back before you know it, okay?"

She sighed and pulled away from him reluctantly. "Okay. I'll be here waiting."

They shared a brief, but passionate kiss, and he left. Hawke stood on the spot for a moment, feeling lost and unsure what to do now. However, a distraction arrived in the form of Varric entering her estate.

"Varric," she said, surprised. "What are you doing here?"

"Just saw Blondie leave – good timing really. I came to talk to you," he told her, uncharacteristically serious.

"Uh, well, take a seat by all means."

The dwarf proceeded into the library and seated himself on the chaise lounge, Bianca propped up beside him. Confused, Hawke followed suit and sat next to him.

"What's all this about?"

Varric leaned back, his fingers laced in front of his practically bare chest. "As your friend, I'd feel like I was doing you a disservice not to say something, but… don't you think you're rushing into this a bit too soon? I mean, with everything that happened with you and the elf, I thought that you'd need a break."

Hawke fiddled with a fraying cuff on her tunic. He was right, in a way. Surely this would lead to more heartache?

"Me and Anders aren't together. We just… uh…" She dwindled off, blushing scarlet. Thankfully, Varric understood.

"It could still end it tears, something this casual. You know how Blondie feels about you – surely, if you wanted that sort of companionship, you'd give the Blooming Rose a visit?" He gave her a shrewd look as she chewed her lip agitatedly.

He was right. Of course he was. She had handled this spectacularly clumsily. Worry flooded into her stomach as she thought of Anders. Though they had never agreed they were together, surely he would wonder if – or worse, assume – that they were now.

"You need to tell him, Hawke," Varric said gravely, practically reading her mind. "If I were you, I'd do it sooner than later – but that's just me." He patted her shoulder and got up, holstering Bianca. "I'll probably see you tonight. If I don't, then I'll assume it went badly."

He offered her a charming smile, then was gone.

Maker, what was she going to do _now_?

* * *

Isabela was at Anders's clinic when Hawke got there, after much pondering.

"Don't come running to me when you pick up another one of these diseases," the healer told her with the trace of a smirk, handing her a balm.

"Isn't that the point of magic?" she scoffed, swiping the tub out of his hand and stowing it ungraciously down her tunic. She turned to leave, giving Hawke a wink as she passed.

"I don't want to know," she muttered to herself, crossing the clinic to where Anders stood.

"When I pictured seeing you again, you were naked," he muttered in her ear so the few patients recovering on beds couldn't hear him.

Hawke took a deep breath and steeled herself for what she was going to say, trying her best to ignore his comment. "Anders, we need to talk."

His face fell, and he looked as if Hawke had just kicked a cat right in front of him. Or rather, _he_ was the kicked cat. "Oh."

"I know last night, we…" She gestured into thin air to imply what she meant. "I just don't want rush into anything." Now she was just parroting Varric; her mind had drawn a blank and everything she had practiced to say on the way down here had vanished in a fit of nerves. "I don't want either of us to get hurt."

His brow furrowed in disappointment. "I see. Did you enjoy last night, though?"

"Yes, but that's not the point," she said, waving her hand impatiently. It was vital he understood. "I'd very much like us to keep being friends, but I need to be alone… for now." There. She said it.

His reaction was a lot better that had expected. Instead of ranting at her, or crying, or anything, he simply sighed in resignation. "I understand. We can be friends. I think I can do that, and owe you that much."

"Thank you, Anders," she said softly, smiling at him. "I'll let you get back to work."

He nodded and turned away from her wordlessly as she left to return to her mansion. She felt lighter, mildly cheerful that she had put things right. Varric will be pleased.

Her head still in the clouds, she entered her estate, smiling to herself, and found herself looking at her uncle. The look of pure terror and worry on Gamlen's face bought the heavy feeling flooding back into her stomach again.


	10. Chapter 10

_A / N - sorry this chapter has taken unusually long! now i'm back at university i've had all sorts of assignments to be in. i'll try and complete the next one a lot quicker. thanks for reading, please review! _

Gamlen looked unusually concerned as he approached Hawke barely a second after she stepped over the threshold.

"Where is Leandra?" he demanded. "She didn't turn up to our weekly visit."

"I don't know, Uncle, I haven't seen her all day," answered Hawke, perplexed. "Why?"

He groaned exasperatedly. "Can I not get answers from anyone around here?" He threw a look at Bodahn and Sandal, with whom he had appeared to be arguing with beforehand.

"Tell me what's going on."

Gamlen turned his attention back to her. "Your mother didn't turn up to our weekly visit. I don't suppose she took a different route…?" he wondered aloud, more to himself.

"She could be with her suitor,"" suggested Bodahn.

"What _suitor_? Leandra never mentioned anything about a _suitor_," Gamlen snapped at the dwarf.

She probably doesn't tell you many things, Hawke thought to herself.

"Well, those lilies arrived for her earlier, while you were out," Bodahn added to Hawke.

_White lilies? Wasn't that familiar to her somehow?_

Panic coursed through her. She couldn't let Gamlen catch on to anything. Trying to keep her voice as steady as possible, she said, "Maybe you should go home Uncle, in case she turns up."

Relieved with leaving the matter into more capable hands, and glad of being given nothing else to do, Gamlen complied quite eagerly. "Yes, yes, you're right. She could be there right now…"

With that, he bustled out of the estate before Hawke could change her mind.

"Is everything alright, messere?"

"Bodahn, I need you to stay here and keep an eye on things," she told him firmly, unable to answer her question. The dwarf bowed, and Hawke called Torch.

The huge dog came bounding downstairs, presumably from taking a nap on her bed, and gambolled around her.

"Shall we go fine Aveline, boy? Yeah? Come on then."

He barked excitedly, taking off like a shot as soon as the front door opened.

* * *

Torch reached the Keep before his owner did, leaving Hawke to burst in on Aveline's office to the sight of the mabari charging round the room, his stubby tail wagging.

"Would you care to explain what this is all about, Hawke?" the guardswoman asked, a bite of impatience in her voice.

"This is an emergency," she gasped, clutching a stitch in her side.

"Sit down and tell me what this is all about." Aveline kicked out a chair, which Hawke took obligingly, her air of annoyance vanishing in an instant.

Hawke took a moment to catch her breath and allow her heart rate to return to normal. "Do you remember Ghyslain de Carrac's wife?"

Aveline snorted, her distaste of the man still apparent. "Yes, Nina, or whatever her name was. And?"

"Well, you remember how he said she received white lilies and we ended up finding her remains in that foundry?"

"Get to the point, Hawke."

Hawke shot her friend an irritated glare. "It's only turned out that my own mother is missing, and guess what? Lilies arrived for her, too."

"It could be –" began Aveline, but Hawke cut her off.

"I refuse to think this is a coincidence!" she said hotly, leaping out of the chair. Torch ceased his sniffing of the carpet and looked on, startled by this outburst. "She's my mother, and the only family I have left now. Please," she begged, clutching Aveline's arm.

"I'll rally the guard to patrol Hightown and Darktown in case she turns up there," said Aveline briskly, suddenly business-like. "Keep your sword close Hawke – we're going to Lowtown."

Hawke nodded, feeling somewhat hopeful and waited whilst the guardswoman took a moment to gather those in the barracks together; then, the two women set off. Torch kept close, uncharacteristically subdued – he seemed to know a lot was at stake here. They called on other companions and asked them to help; or rather, Aveline forced them to comply threateningly, no questions asked for the sake of not wasting time. On a normal day, Hawke would've found it slightly uncomfortable to be in such close proximity of Fenris, especially after their argument, but she hadn't the capacity to fret about such things at that moment.

Surprisingly, the group found Gamlen in a heated discussion with an urchin. After giving the poor boy a few silver, Hawke felt confident that they were now heading in the right direction. A sickening panic replaced her hope as she entered the foundry, more familiar than she would have liked.

"You've been here before, haven't you?" mused Varric, lifting Bianca from his back in preparation of attack.

Hawke chose not to reply. This had to be a mistake – yet the pools of fresh blood on the floor suggested otherwise.

"Looks like someone forgot to conceal their not-so-secret trap door," murmured the dwarf, lifting the latch.

"That wasn't here before…" Hawke said slowly. With some trepidation, she lowered herself down into what seemed like a hidden lair. Maker dammit, it _was_ a lair. The group came to a room that could've been a workplace: books were scattered here and there, along with hastily scribbled notes, one of them stating this person's name as Quentin.

"Blood magic… necromancy…" Anders picked up several of the books, his brow furrowed. Merill looked over his shoulder, fascinated. "I don't like the looks of this."

"Hawke," called Isabela, interrupting the former in knocking objects aside for clues, "this looks just like Leandra."

"Oh, Maker," muttered Hawke, bile rising up in her throat. This person certainly had an unhealthy obsession, not just with Leandra, but with other women in general. "Sick bastard!" she burst out, making others in the vicinity jump. "I need to find my mother, _now_."

Without preamble, she slid her greatsword off her back, charging down rickety wooden stairs and ignoring the shouts and protests behind her. Whatever person or thing had brought harm to her mother would pay. Sure enough, as Hawke stumbled down the last step, she saw someone with their back to her.

"Leandra was so sure you would come," they – a man – said in a dry, reedy voice.

"Where is my mother?" snarled Hawke as her companions finally caught up to her.

"Do you know what the strongest force in the world is?" asked Quentin, turning around and ignoring the question. "Love. I pieced her from memory. I have done the impossible… I have touched the face of the Maker."

Hawke suddenly became aware of the figure sat on a chair, its back to her, wearing a white wedding dress and veil. The figure's head lolled to one side like a doll's, and clumsily got to its feet…

Leandra turned to face her daughter – though it didn't seem like Leandra. Her eyes were empty, like glass orbs, and an unskilled hand had sewn her head to another's part, her delicate skin punctured with multiple holes and held together only by string or twine. She lumbered forward and Hawke looked on, numb from shock. Dead corpses were being reanimated around her, but she couldn't move, didn't want to move. Could she have prevented this? Someone was shouting at her to move, to fight, to do something, and it wasn't until Fenris swung her round and shook her.

"Hawke, you need to move!" he yelled, vexed and afraid. These words seemed to get through to her. Lifting her huge weapon, she hacked and hit at countless animated dead and desire demons, until Quentin finally lowered his magical defense. Not thinking twice, Hawke charged forward, eyes blazing, and slashed her greatsword in a wide arc, the dangerously sharp metal slicing his abdomen effortlessly. His eyes still reflected mad desire as his innards spilled onto the floor and he fell to his knees, unmistakably dead. Hawke panted, feeling viciously victorious, until she caught Leandra stumbling out of the corner of her eye.

"Mother!" She rushed forward, catching Leandra just as she fell.

Even after her terrible ordeal, she still managed to smile. "I knew you would come."

"There's nothing I can do," said Anders gently, "his magic was the only thing keeping her alive."

Hawke refused to believe these words. There had to be something. "Don't move, Mother, I'll get you out of here."

"Shh, darling. You've done so well. That awful man would've kept me here as his prisoner, but I'm free now." Leandra looked up at her eldest daughter, the latter's eyes filling with despairing tears. "I'll see Carver again, and your father, but you'll be here alone."

"I – I should've watched over you more carefully," murmured Hawke, her voice cracking with supressed emotion.

"My little girl has become so strong," croaked Leandra, her voice becoming weaker with every word. "I love you, you've always made me so proud…"

Her eyes rolled into the back of her head to reveal the whites and her head lolled back, the stitches around her once-flawless neck straining with the weight. Hawke continued to hold her, tears filling her eyes until her vision became blurry, still refusing to cry. Her mother, the one person who had always been there for her – gone, at the hands of some mage. Suddenly her hatred for mages clawed at her insides, her views now matching those of Fenris's. But then she thought of poor, innocent Bethany, locked up in the Circle purely because of her gift, her curse. She had done nothing wrong; yet charlatans like Quentin were allowed to walk free, spreading their evil magic like a plague. This unfairness left a bitter taste in her mouth. What was she to do now? She had no mother now. This was every child's nightmare, to be left alone, to be abandoned, their parents cruelly stolen from them.

"We should go," whispered Isabela, resting a hand on Hawke's shoulder. She did not move from her touch.

Merrill bent down and steadily closed Leandra's eyes. "She could be sleeping."

Raw emotion pulled at her again. Here were people who truly cared for her. Nodding, Hawke stood, Leandra still in her arms. She was frail and light in death. Hawke vowed to bury her mother properly, a private affair for those who could remember her in her youth, her smile when she was still alive, as well as the other poor women who had unwillingly taken part in this travesty of an experiment.

With Leandra buried under a plum tree in the estate garden and Gamlen told of the events, Hawke finally requested to be alone. She rather imagined some protests met this, but she didn't care. Only when she was alone in her room, did Hawke crumble to floor and allow tears of grief and despair flow.


	11. Chapter 11

_A / N - okay sorry this chapter has taken a long time as well! i'm juggling university work and fanfiction and other things right now! this one is a little short and is just based in the aftermath of last chapter. thanks for reading and sticking with me this far!_

Chapter Eleven

Anders called in the next day, finding Hawke in cross-legged on the floor of the estate library. She was wearing a tunic that looked in dire need of washing; it hung off one shoulder and had a large soup stain down the front. Her hair was dishevelled and hung around her shoulders lankly. She looked up as Anders entered, and he noted the red-rimmed eyes that held nothing other than despair.

"Hello," she said hoarsely, completely unsurprised to see him. She turned her attention back to the wad of paper she was sorting through on the floor.

"I'm here for you," said the mage gently, sitting on the floor at arm's length away from her. He knew that she would want her own space. Awkwardly, he cupped her hand with his own comfortingly.

"I know," she replied in a monotone, not looking at him and seemingly not aware of his touch. "I'm sorting through Mother's old correspondences and pictures. Here." She passed him a folded piece of paper.

Opening it, he saw it was a sketch of Leandra. The artist had used charcoal and graphite, having been able to bend the uses of these mediums at will. Even though the picture was black and white, it seemed uncannily realistic, the eyes holding a lifelike sparkle. Hawke then passed another picture, of Leandra again but also of her three children. It had been done by the same artist, obviously some years ago as the family looked quite young.

"Mother's friend did those back in Lothering," Hawke explained. Suddenly, tears sprang to her eyes as she remembered the home she had left behind. Things had been hard without her father there, but they were happy – even though Leandra had been a single mother with three children to raise, the love she held in her heart for them was immense, and never failed to crack a smile. She'd always been there, at the end of a hard day with a cup of tea, comforting hug and reassuring words. That was a mother's job. Hawke's vision became obscured by tears, then splashing onto the sheaths of paper. She became dimly aware of an arm around her shoulders and whiff of lavender.

"At least she isn't suffering anymore," whispered Anders, completely at a loss of what else to say. Well, what do you tell someone when a parent has died? It would have been exceptionally foolish of him to say that everything would be okay. Though it would, after a long time of heartache, it wasn't a clever thing to say to someone. His belief was that no one ever got over a death; they just learned to cope with it better.

"It's just hard," said Hawke at last, "knowing that she's never going to comfort me or that I'll never find her cooking in the kitchen again." She gave a great sniff, and took the handkerchief Anders offered. The estate seemed very much empty now. Hawke could vaguely imagine the ghost of Leandra floating through the bare halls, the cold kitchen… Bodahn and Orana took the news of Leandra's death stoically enough and offered their condolences. Despite the company of servants, Hawke still felt as alone as ever.

"What happened to your mother, Anders?" she asked after a long period of silence that had been permeated only by Hawke's gentle sobs. She stuffed the handkerchief unceremoniously down her tunic sleeve and turned to the mage.

"I didn't know her too well," he replied simply. "I was taken to the Circle when I was very young. I know she didn't put up too much of a fight though," he added, somewhat bitterly.

"Do you miss her?"

He pondered this for a moment. "I miss the idea of a mother, yes. Like I said, I didn't really know her."

"I'm sorry," mumbled Hawke.

The mage turned to look at her. "Don't be."

She managed a weak smile, her eyes red and puffy. "Thank you for being here. I didn't think you would want to be, after…" she trailed off awkwardly, remembering their previous discussion in the clinic.

"You are still a good friend," he told her kindly, patting her arm. Even though he was hurt, deep down, he knew that this was the best for both of them. Friends was better than nothing.

"I feel lost," she admitted, not looking at him. Instead, she sifted through the letters again. "Like I'm just drifting about aimlessly, just… existing. I feel like there's no other purpose in this world, and I can't stop thinking about how I could have prevented this…" Hawke swallowed hard as tears slid down her cheeks again. "Nothing matters; not the Qunari, not the conflict between the templars and mages…" She let out a choked sob, which was followed by a pattering sound as Torch entered the library, as if sensing his mistress's discomfort. He made his way up to her, head bowed and tail wagging curiously, before gently licking the salty tracks her tears had made. Subconsciously, she patted the dog's broad head and allowed him to comfort her.

"We're all here for you, Hawke," murmured Anders, giving her hand a squeeze.

She hiccoughed. "I bet they're all down at the Hanged Man, aren't they?"

"Of course. They offered to all come and see you, but I didn't think you'd want a lot of people gathered here awkwardly, gawking, probing you, constantly asking if you're okay…"

"No, I suppose not. This means a lot." She patted his hand, then stood up suddenly. She swayed slightly, her head light from extensive crying and severe lack of sleep. "I'd better put these away," she said, more to herself. She gathered the sheaths of paper and clumsily banded them together, before slotting them into a drawer in the desk, though keeping the portrait of Leandra clutched in her hand. "I can't imagine Mother would want me moping about."

"You are not moping," said Anders firmly, "you're in mourning, which is understandable. I don't think your mother would approve if the first thing you did was swan off to the Hanged Man and drowned your sorrows there."

Hawke sighed. "You're right. You're always right." She sat down heavily in an armchair, Torch resting his head on her lap. She inhaled deeply. "Either Torch needs a bath, or I do."

Anders perched himself on the arm of the chair. "I didn't want to say anything, but I think it might be you."

Hawke met his gaze and began to laugh. Not just a giggle, but a gut-wrenching guffaw. What Anders said wasn't even remotely funny, but it felt good to do something instead of cry. The mage joined in with her mirth, failing to see the joke. He couldn't help but notice how her eyes had lit up and how gentle creases tugged at her eyes. He was glad that he was the one here to comfort her, no one else, and especially not Fenris. It made things even better when she didn't push him away and accepted the relief and concerns only a close friend could offer.

"I promise I'll bathe soon," she said, wiping her streaming eyes. She looked down at the drawing she still held, admiring its beauty and realness. "I think I will frame this."

Anders looked down at the portrait. "I think that's a good idea."

Hawke thought of keeping the image in her room on her vanity table, where she could look at it every day and keep Leandra's memory alive, and feel blessed at all the time she had with her. Her mind then wandered to her mother's room and what was to be done about it. Of course, she didn't have to do anything with it _now_ – or rather, maybe it'd be a good plan to keep it as is, like a shrine in dedication to her mother…? No. That would be irrefutably morbid and keep her stuck in the past, pining for the mother she no longer had instead of placing her memory at peace. Hawke settled on the fact that she wouldn't throw out or sell everything. On the contrary, she would place the personal keepsakes elsewhere, somewhere private, where only she could look at them and remember a happier time. Suddenly, it felt as if some sort of weight had lifted, leaving her feeling slightly lighter than before.

She rose from the chair, Torch watching her curiously as she dislodged him.

"I think I'll go for a bath now," she said, deciding she should at least clean and change her clothes today, if nothing else.

She turned to Anders. "Thank you for being here," she said softly.

In a swift move, she pecked him softly on the mouth, then turned and exited the room before he could question her move and call her back.


	12. Chapter 12

_A / N - a bit of angst/ violence in this one! Hawke x Fenris - he tries to make amends but does Hawke still want him? thanks to everyone sticking with me so far!_

**Chapter Twelve**

Anders left the estate, his mouth burning from where Hawke had kissed him. It was only a friendly peck, he knew that; a way of showing her appreciation, he told himself. Of course he still had feelings for her, but forced himself not to read into anything that wasn't there. Her mother had just died so it was understandable if her feelings were here, there and everywhere. He would expect her to be confused, to not know how she feels from one day to the next – though he couldn't help the affection he held for her deep in his heart. When she left the room he saw the surprise registering on her face as if she couldn't quite believe what she had done.

"We're just friends," he muttered to himself firmly as he entered the familiar squalor and shabby surroundings of Darktown.

The sooner he accepted that, he thought, the better.

* * *

Over the next few days, each of Hawke's companions visited her, one by one. She couldn't face leaving the mansion for very long; the bustle of Hightown and its cheerful inhabitants felt almost too much to bear, and hadn't partaken in the party's usual Wicked Grace nights. First Merrill visited, then Varric followed by Aveline, and then Isabela. The pirate's idea of cheering up Hawke involved far-fetched stories and several sexual escapades gone wrong. It helped take her mind off things at least; yet she couldn't help but feel slightly wounded that Fenris hadn't shown. Following Isabela's departure were a few days of silence, couple with loneliness. Admittedly she felt a lot better in herself and could now go a whole day without bursting into floods tears, of which she was proud about. It was true what people said: time is the best healer. Anders had kept away, too, which further added to Hawke's worries that perhaps kissing him was too far. She didn't know what had come over her. She just felt immensely grateful to have a friend at the time, but will Anders continue to see them as such now, considering their history?

One afternoon, whilst Hawke was cooking away, Bodahn entered the kitchen and announced his presence by clearing his throat.

"There is a man here to see you, messere," said the dwarf.

Hawke's neck snapped up. "Send him in," she replied, thinking of Anders. She felt somewhat relieved, now that she can put things right with the mage.

Someone made their way into the kitchen noiselessly. Hawke, completely unaware of another presence, continued stirring a large pot of vegetable soup made from scratch.

"Hawke," said a voice, making her jump. They spoke in a low baritone, nothing like Anders.

She swung round and faced Fenris. Her heart skipped a couple of beats as she surveyed him. He looked as divine as ever, his hair as white as freshly fallen snow. She hadn't realised the magnificent contrast of the pale hair against the olive skin until now. Hawke swallowed a few times and coughed to try and get her voice working again.

"Fenris," she said simply, acknowledging that he truly was here, in front of her and in her kitchen. They hadn't been alone together since that night in the rain. Anger replaced her initial shock as she remembered the bad note they had left on and how much he had hurt her. "Why are you here?"

"To see how you are," came his reply. He remained as impassive as ever, his olive green eyes searching her face. "I thought you could use a… friend." The last word stuck in his throat. Were they even that? He knew the anguish he had caused her. He still had feelings for her, though he despised this fact – to act on them would be foolish, he decided, and he was doubtful that she would even take him back. Deep down, however, of course he desired her to be more than a friend. By the look she gave him, this word must have felt like a slap in the face.

"I am fine," she told him curtly, turning back to the pot on the stove. She took it off the heat and left it to one side before inspecting the fresh bread rolls in the oven.

"I cannot imagine what it must be like to lose your family," he said quietly, watching her slide bread rolls onto a cooling rack. They smelled so good. Hawke merely shrugged off his condolences and still refused to look at him. "I am here for you," he added.

That did it. Throwing down a towel, Hawke swung to face him before storming over to where he stood. The elf didn't even retreat, only blinked several times as he tried to register what was going on. She was mad, he knew that. Her amber eyes blazed with a fierce fire and he would not have been surprised to have seen steam gushing out of her ears. When she spoke, her voice trembled with supressed rage, spitting each syllable like poison.

"You left, you have not been there for me for the past month," she said slowly, her teeth bared in a snarl. Fenris didn't want to admit he was afraid, but she looked positively terrifying and took solace in the fact that she was not in a full suit of armour with a greatsword on her back. Thank the Maker for small mercies.

"Do you think it was easy for me?" he asked, getting as easily wound up. Indignation overrode his fear at her words. How could she think that leaving her was easy for him?

She let out a mad cackle of mirthless laughter. "Oh I'm so sorry, I forgot that _you_ weren't the one crying yourself to sleep every night!" She turned her back on him and began to pace the length of the kitchen, trying to work off this furious wrath burning up inside her.

"I did it because I love you!" Fenris bellowed, just about having enough. He wanted her to understand this, it was vital she did. It wasn't fair for her to think he had had it easy when it was the hardest thing he had ever done. He felt surprised with himself for a moment, having never confessed his feelings aloud for anyone before. He saw a strange look flit across Hawke's face before she continued her furious pacing.

"I don't need you," she spat as he followed her footsteps. Incensed, and rather hurt by these words, Fenris grabbed her arm to make her stay still, but it was a wrong move. She did something she had never done before; in her rage, she swung around and brought her hand up to his face and slapped him, hard. It seemed to happen in slow motion. The elf reeled from shock, an angry red welt blossoming on his left cheek. From her strength training as a warrior, it hurt a _lot_. Fenris did nothing. He stood limply and watched her transition from blind anger to regret. Her amber eyes seemed to melt as their eyes met and she brought her hands up to her mouth in shock.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered, eyes wide. She felt disgusted with herself.

"I deserved that," he said quietly, rubbing where she had hit him. The stinging was beginning to subside now as the lyrium in his body healed it quickly.

"No, you didn't." Hawke leaned against a wooden beam, carding her fingers through her hair. "I don't know what came over me."

Fenris slowly walked over to her. "I did. From what I put you through, I didn't deserve anything more."

"That doesn't excuse it," she snapped, irritated at his placid manner. She watched him warily as the distance between them closed. Slowly, she met those familiar olive green eyes that reminded her of deep forests. She saw the forgiveness behind them. "Did you really love me?" she asked quietly.

"I still do," he corrected her.

She stood up straight and ceased leaning on the wooden beam. Fenris's breath hitched in his throat as she neared him. He didn't back away, only watched the steady steps she took. Only when she was in front of him did she look up and meet his eyes, searching them, sensing the love there that had never left, just forgotten.

Hawke leant her head on his chest – or rather, his breastplate – and Fenris held a comforting arm around her shoulders.

"About Leandra," he began awkwardly; that was the reason why he went to her in the first place. "I am truly sorry."

Holding back tears, Hawke nodded against his chest. It felt nice, to stand there and embrace. She considered kissing him, then realised that this wasn't the time for that. They needed to talk first, clear the air. Silence settled upon them as they remained in a close position for some time.

"I missed you," murmured Fenris at last. He rested his lips against the top of her head, a sweet floral scent assaulting his nose. A smell he associated with her. He squeezed her shoulder gently, and they both felt a lot lighter, as if a weight had been lifted that day.


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter Thirteen**

Hawke's anger with Fenris abated slowly over the course of a few days. At first it had been a lot of shouting, snide remarks and confessed feelings in the heat of the moment. Now, after having a civil conversation where neither party raised their voice above speaking level, the air felt a lot clearer and relaxed. They were not back as an item, per sae, but rather on friendly terms. With time, Hawke knew, they may be able to re-ignite the flame that was once there. None of the others knew of the ins and outs of the situation between Hawke and Fenris; the important thing now was that they had resumed their friendship which allowed the party to be able to play Wicked Grace at the Hanged Man without an awkward atmosphere hanging over them. The only person that did not seemed pleased at this reconciliation was, of course, Anders.

The time had come for Hawke to begin sorting through Leandra's room. It was a mammoth task she could put off no longer, and invited her companions round to aid her. She and Fenris communicated only by eye contact and frequent arm brushes. Anders witnessed this display and shot surly looks at Fenris, to which the elf reciprocated.

"What about this?" Isabela held up a small, jewel-encrusted jewellery box and peeked inside. "Ooh, look at all this…"

Hawke peered over the pirate's shoulder and saw several fine gold chains. "Put that in the 'sell' pile, I never saw Mother wear those in all my life."

Isabela looked longingly at a long necklace adorned with a single, small sapphire jewel. Hawke met her gaze and sighed.

"Fine, keep it if you really want, but I want the others over there." She jerked her thumb in the direction of a wicker basket containing miscellaneous objects to be sold on the market. Hawke had vowed to use the proceeds to redecorate Leandra's room, and then use the leftover money to pay off Varric's tab at the Hanged Man and drinks for the others. The dwarf was exceedingly grateful for this, and seemed to be the one putting in most of the effort in clearing out the room.

They had come a long way in such a short space of time; the wardrobe had been cleared, along with the chest of drawers and desk. The 'Sell' pile was the largest. Hawke preferred to keep items of a sentimental value; the betrothal portrait she had re-inherited when Bethany went to the Circle, a patchwork quilt that had taken Leandra years to make and her mother's wedding and engagement rings from when she was married to Malcolm. Hawke slid the rings on her fingers and admired the creamy opal that shone rainbow when it caught the light and the delicate golden filigree. After Malcolm died, Leandra had kept her rings in a small velvet box in her desk drawer. Hawke had often caught her staring at them longingly before placing them back with a sigh.

"They are really pretty, Hawke," called Merrill cheerfully from the other side of the room, nodding to the rings. She and Varric were lugging a particularly garish painting of beach scenery. They let it fall to the floor with a crash and dusted off their hands.

"How in Andraste's name are we going to manage to get all this to Hightown market without breaking our backs and being mugged?" asked Varric, leaning against the wall and wiping his sweaty brow.

Hawke raised an eyebrow. "Do you really think any thieves are going to want to take us on altogether?"

The dwarf pondered this for a moment. "No, I suppose you're right." He stood up straight again and stretched out his back before picking up the large scenery painting. "Better get moving now, then."

Murmurs of agreement were heard as everyone took hold of something. Hawke's shoulder brushed against Fenris's as they bent down at the same time. Their gaze met, and a warm flush crept up onto her cheeks. He said nothing, but then again didn't need to – he usually had this effect on her. Wordlessly he picked up a crate of items and waited for the others to file out of the estate. He made sure that he and Hawke remained walking side by side as they left.

* * *

Hawke managed to garner a hefty amount for all the once-loved forgotten items at Hightown market. She managed to pay off Varric's tab with money to share, which she shared around her other companions to thank them for their help. They protested profusely, shaking heads and holding their hands behind their backs, and it was only when Hawke threatened to throw the whole lot down the drain did they begrudgingly take it.

"Prepare to lose your whole lot at Wicked Grace, Blondie," chuckled Varric as he jingled his pockets jovially.

"You wish," retorted Anders.

"I don't need to wish, I know it will happen. Coming for a drink now?" Varric asked the group at large.

Anders cast a furtive glance at Hawke, preparing to reply with the same answer she did. Unfortunately, she was too busy gazing at a passing butterfly, watching as it landed on one of the metal spikes on her armour. Anders noticed Varric looking at him expectantly and decided he couldn't put off replying any longer.

"Yes, I'll come," he said heavily with a roll of his eyes.

"Not for me, Varric," said Hawke at last, coming out of her reverie, "I need to go back to the estate first and deposit certain things." She jingled her pocket to indicate her meaning. Preferably, she would rather not wander Lowtown with such a large amount of money on her person.

"I will be there shortly; I think I would be easy prey for thieves," agreed Fenris.

Anders cast him an incredibly dirty look and didn't hesitate to keep the aggression out of his voice. "You're a well-trained warrior, aren't you? What have you got to worry about?"

The elf wisely ignored this jibe and merely turned his back on the man. The rest of the group said their goodbyes, Isabela and Merrill skipping off in front, and Anders crossing his arms irritably in front of his chest. Here Fenris was with the perfect excuse to remain in her company for a while longer.

Hawke waved a farewell and she and Fenris made their way back through Hightown market, weaving in and out of shoppers and vendors. Several times they made eye contact but looked away hurriedly, as if they had caught the other doing something indecent. The silence between them was broken only my Fenris clearing his throat occasionally.

Unable to take the silence any longer, Hawke spoke. "Thank you for the help today."

"It was my pleasure," replied the elf, seemingly glad that the awkward atmosphere had been broken. "Thank you for… generously sharing your proceeds."

Hawke waved an airy hand. "It's no big deal – just take it as me showing my appreciation."

For a moment, Fenris's mind wandered, idly fantasising about other things she could have done to show her appreciation. He snapped out of these thoughts when the Hightown estates came into view. He walked her to her door where she scuffed the ground awkwardly with her foot and kicked up a small dust cloud as she did so.

"I'm glad we're back on talking terms," she mumbled, shyly avoiding Fenris's gaze.

"As am I." He gazed at her for a moment before adding, "I missed your company, Hawke."

She nodded, taking a deep interest in the masonry of the estate, looking everywhere but at him. When she didn't look at him, he cupped her face gently in a gauntleted hand.

"And I missed you. Surely you know this."

Hawke nodded again, uncharacteristically lost for words. For the past few days it had been arguments about hurt feelings and difficult choices, finally resulting the calm after the storm, which consequently was mere polite conversation. She was confused, they both were, as there had been no talk as to what was to happen next. Neither one of them wondered aloud if they should resume what was once lost or let the past remain where it was. It took a moment for her to find her voice again.

"I missed you, too."

She saw the hunger in his face, those olive green eyes looming towards her. Every detail of his face became clearer as they became closer and she realised that this clearly wasn't the time. Gently, she held out a hand that collided with his breastplate to stop him. Hurt registered on his face now, which then turned to confusion when she spoke.

"Fenris," she began with a small sigh. "If we are going to do this, we need to do it properly."

"How do you mean?" he asked slowly, now eyeing her with apprehension. He pulled away from her and leant against the wall of the estate. The tips of his ears tinged pink with embarrassment, although Hawke did not appear to notice this.

"You hurt me, a lot," she explained simply and held up a hand as he opened his mouth to protest. "I can appreciate it wasn't easy for you, but we cannot delve straight into this."

"We spoke about it," the elf said stubbornly, crossing his arms and frowning.

"We spoke about the past," she corrected him. "We never discussed what's between us now, in this present moment.

"I want you, Hawke." In his desperation to prove this to her, he grabbed her upper arms, his fiery gaze burning into her.

"Then we have to take this slowly." At these words Fenris released her and sighed resignedly. He bowed his head and felt a delicate hand graze his cheek.

"Hey," she said softly.

Olive green eyes sought ought molten amber ones and instantly knew that this was the right thing to do, the best way they could go about it. He registered the gentle affection of which she looked at him and the determination, too. Instantly he knew that he would do this for her – would do _anything_ for her if she so asked. She smiled at him and this was enough for him to feel weak at the knees. Now, he accepted the effect he had on her, and it no longer scared him as it did before. He had grown up, as a man and as a person, and realised that he had gone completely the wrong way about things. Leaving Hawke was the hardest thing he had ever done; and yet, now it seemed unnecessary. He felt childish and naïve that thinking if he walked away from his problem then burying his head in the sand about it would solve. How very wrong he was. Now, he intended to make everything up to her.

"I will never leave you again." Fenris's tone was low yet fierce this. Hawke looked at him, determined to believe his declaration, seeing the mixture of emotions behind his eyes. "I want to be with you, Hawke, so if taking this slow is what you want, then it shall be."

She nodded, then her face broke out into the first genuine smile she'd given in days. "Come; let's deposit our burdens and go for a drink, like the good old days."

With a reassuring squeeze of his arm, Hawke entered her estate, turning back and flashing him a warm smile before the door shut behind her.


	14. Chapter 14

_A / N - the chapter after this will probably come rather quickly as ive been working on it when my internet hasnt been working! also i'm at home for a few days and procrastinating in the form of writing fic, so, enjoy!_

**Chapter Fourteen**

Anders was not happy. His brow drew downwards in a frown as Fenris and Hawke entered the Hanged Man some time later that day. He noticed how Hawke had a new spring in her step and smiled a lot more easily. She seated herself next to Aveline, who had been absent that day due to her guardsman duties, and Fenris found a space between Varric and Isabela. The elf felt eyes burning into him and turned sharply to look at the mage.

"Is there something you want, Anders?" snapped the elf.

Feeling slightly shamefaced at being caught glaring, Anders retorted, "You don't have the temperament for a slave."

Fenris raised an eyebrow suspiciously before glancing down at the hand of cards he had been dealt. "Is that a compliment or an insult?"

"I'm just wondering how your master didn't kill you."

"How have the templars not killed you?" came the sharp comeback.

"_I'm_ charming," Anders replied smugly. He was distracted momentarily from the death glare Fenris was giving him as Hawke stood from her seat and headed downstairs. Without preamble, Anders immediately followed her, and earned another dirty look from the elf in return. Fenris didn't try and stop him, however, and merely focused on Wicked Grace. He felt his ears burn with anger as he thought of the abomination and Hawke together. The former seemed a lot more taken with her, and he couldn't help wondering…

Meanwhile, Anders caught up with Hawke at the bar. She looked particularly breath-taking, even though she was dressed in her metal plate armour she had worn all day, she held herself with a certain elegance. Brown tendrils of hair escaped the bun poised on the crown of her head and framed her face, longer ones tickling her shoulder blades.

"I thought you could use some help," explained Anders when she gave him a puzzled look. He nodded to the many tankards of ale.

"Thank you," she said graciously, picking up three of them whilst he took the rest.

"So, you and Fenris," he began casually, but stopped when she sighed and clicked her tongue irritably.

"I knew you were going to ask," she said, sighing. "We're friends, for the moment, just like you and I are, but Maker knows if we will pick up where we left off."

This hit Anders like a slap in the face. Of course, he knew that she had been going through a hard time, and now it obviously meant that she had been on rebound when they had spent their night together. He could appreciate this – but it hurt more knowing that it had meant a lot more to him than it did to her.

She caught the look of hurt on his face. "I still care for you, surely you know that? And I did tell you that we couldn't be together?"

The mage nodded then gave half a shrug to show he didn't care that much. Only he did, he cared so much and he wished he didn't. It would make things a lot easier if he didn't.

She stopped walking when she reached the bottom of the stairs and faced him. "I'm sorry, Anders, I really am. When we spent our night together, it was amazing, don't get me wrong, but I rushed into it. It wasn't fair on you or me, and I was selfish. Can you please forgive me?"

He searched her face, seeing the blatant regret behind her eyes and saw that she truly was sorry. Hawke wasn't malicious; she didn't do things to bounce people off each other and see how they reacted. It just wasn't in her nature. So, to keep the peace and realising that being friends was better than cutting her out of his life altogether, he nodded. Instantly she looked pleased as relief washed over her.

"I would hug you, but…" She indicated the tankards in her hands.

"It's fine," Anders reassured her. He stepped aside and allowed her to climb the stairs before him, finding it difficult to tear his eyes away from her backside.

"At last!" cried Isabela when the pair entered. "I thought you got lost!"

Hawke laughed it off and took her seat again. She sneaked a glance and Fenris and noticed she received a rather hard look in return. Before she could say anything, he turned back to the game. Confused by this, Hawke tried to take her mind off it by discussing the new guards Aveline had recently recruited. Every now and then she chanced looks at the elf, but he was determinedly focused on Wicked Grace. What was he thinking? Did he know something or was he being his usual surly self? Suddenly, Hawke remembered that elves have more acute hearing than humans. And she and Anders had been at the foot of the stairs, talking. She mentioned their night together… Surely Fenris couldn't have heard that? But her stomach twisted uncomfortable as she realised that he probably had, and this was why he was ignoring her and being fouler to Anders than usual. No one else picked up on this; Isabela was explaining something to Merrill, the elf staring wide-eyed with rapt attention, Varric was chuckling at Anders's stories as a Grey Warden and Aveline was still in full swing talking about the barracks.

Fenris looked up at Hawke through his eyelashes. He knew that she knew there was something wrong. She was perceptive like that. But that didn't take away the sound of her voice drifting up to Varric's suite…

So she had slept with the abomination. Anger boiled up inside him as Anders laughed, seized with the sudden urge to rip his heart from his chest. The two of them spending the night together shouldn't have bothered him that much, he knew that; but even though he left Hawke he still had feelings for her. He thought she did too – though he remembered her face as he left, the image burned into his mind. Hurt, confusion and disappointment; all of which she had hidden behind a prickly exterior. He felt like he shouldn't pass judgement. Maker, she was allowed companionship, and even he had found his way to the Blooming Rose several times. None of the prostitutes there were the same. They weren't Hawke. He held no affection for them whatsoever, and he found himself not feeling bothered if it had been Hawke visiting the brothel. But she hadn't. Maybe because Fenris felt such a deep running hatred for the abomination it bothered him so much? The elf chanced another glance at Hawke sat across from him and his heart did somersaults when she caught his gaze. He would have to speak with her, and knew that he wouldn't be able to rest until he had. He should let it lie, that would be the best thing, but fury clawed at his insides when he thought of the two together. He had to know how she felt, what had happened, what would happen in their future. He wanted to leave nothing to chance and know that if anything went wrong – which it wouldn't, as he would rather die than see her hurt again – then she wouldn't seek comfort in the mage's arms.

One by one, the suite began to empty. First Aveline, who said she wanted to spend time with her husband as she hadn't seen him for most of the day – to which Isabela wolf whistled – then Merrill accompanied by Isabela to make sure she got home safe and finally Anders, which left Hawke, Fenris and Varric draining the dregs of their ale. If not for the dwarf, the atmosphere would have been rather tense; of which the other two experienced when he stopped to draw breath to take a drink. It was only when Varric burped richly did he announce he would retire for the night.

"As much as I would love to have you here all night, a dwarf's gotta get his beauty sleep," he said with a wide yawn. Casting a glance at each other, Hawke and Fenris began to leave the inn.

Fenris walked a pace in front of Hawke at all times, the sound of her boots against the stone cobbles bouncing off the tall buildings whilst he walked silently like a ghost, a whisper in the shadows.

"There's something wrong," Hawke said abruptly, breaking the tense silence. "I know it."

He didn't accept nor deny this and merely kept walking. He heard her pace quicken as she caught up with him. She stood in front of him suddenly, forcing him to stop, her arms folded across her chest.

"You know."

Fenris gazed at her coldly for a moment before snarling, "Yes, I do know."

"It's none of your business," she said stubbornly, adamantly staring him down.

"It's every bit of my business," he snapped back. "It's pathetic the way you went running to the abomination for affection –"

"Pathetic, is it?" she asked coldly, surveying him through eyes of stone. "Pathetic the way you went sneaking into the Rose every other night, hoping you weren't seen?"

"How did you –" Fenris caught himself midsentence. "Isabela!" Of course. Who else? She was a regular there and could remain stealthed and unseen if she so desired.

"Yes, women talk, you know!" she said with the air of someone stating the obvious. She sighed and her defensive stance vanished; instead she visibly deflated and her voice became soft and pleading. "Why are you bringing this up now? I thought we were actually getting somewhere with our… relationship." The word sounded strange when spoken aloud. Neither had referred to their 'situation' as this.

"But you and the abomination –"

Hawke cut him off sharply. "Don't refer to him as that. Things are over between us – I doubt they had ever started – and it was a one-time thing because I was so hurt from you. By the sounds of it, we're both as bad as each other."

Fenris glared at her for a time and she reciprocated this hard look. The tough demeanour was back into place as she folded her arms and stared him down, refusing to allow him to guilt trip her. Eventually, he relented, and pulled her gently into his chest. Her cheek fell against the cold metal and she relaxed as she felt his gauntleted hand smooth her hair.

"Promise me you'll never go back to him, for whatever reason," he whispered into her hair. "You are mine."

"And I am yours," she breathed back, nuzzling against his breastplate, urging them to be as close as their armour would permit. Shivering, she pulled away. "I'd better get back…"

"Allow me to walk you?" he offered.

Smiling, she nodded. They set of again through Lowtown, their arms brushing against each other occasionally. She ached for him to take her in his arms and carry her to her estate, where he'd lay her down and make love to her in front of the fire, feather light kisses tickling her neck and slender fingers carding through her dark tresses…

"Hawke?" Fenris's voice sounded far away. "Are you alright? You look odd."

She shook her head to rid herself of impure thoughts and found that they were already halfway into Hightown. As she walked, she couldn't help but become aware of the moisture that had pooled between her legs.

"Yes, yes, I'm fine," she insisted, perhaps too firmly. Fenris cast her a strange look but said nothing. The look on his face now suggested that he had an inkling as to what she had been thinking about. They didn't speak again until Hawke bid him goodbye at her estate door for the second time that day.

She rushed inside and threw off her armour the instant she reached her bedroom before sliding between the crisp clean sheets and pleasuring herself to the thought of him, not knowing that Fenris was doing exactly the same thing over her in his own mansion.


	15. Chapter 15

_A / N - Hawke x Fenris fluff (kind of)! thank you all for the feedback!_

**Chapter Fifteen**

She couldn't sleep.

She had drifted off shortly after pleasuring herself but had awoken sharply in what could only be the early hours of the morning. Shivering violently, she crawled out of bed and stoked the fire before dressing her naked form in a nightshirt. The material was light yet proved as a suitable insulator as she warmed herself by the now-blazing fire. Somewhere, a clock chimed two bells. It was late yet Hawke felt wide awake as she paced around her room in desperate need to tire herself out. She cast a glance at the sleeping fur ball at the foot of her bed; Torch had obviously crept in whilst she had been asleep. The mabari roused now, eyeing his mistress as she walked around the room. Deciding she couldn't being in her room any longer, she crossed the hall to the balcony where she stepped out onto the cold stone floor, surveying the silent sights of Hightown. It was odd as she had never seen it as quiet; the usual bustle of merchants, shoppers and nobles absent, it looked a lonely and peculiar place. A full moon was at its peak in the inky black of the night sky, illuminating her form and casting long, unearthly shadows. Idly, her gaze wandered over to where Fenris's mansion stood, and wondered if he'd be asleep. He had an odd sleeping pattern. Some nights he would sleep soundly and others he would be up for most of the night and get few hours rest. Neither had a specific impact on his mood, however.

Hawke craned her neck to see whether or not there were lights on, but she couldn't. The wise thing to do would be for to jump back into bed again and try to sleep until cock-crow. But she could not. The idea of cold bed sheets wrapped around her person was distinctly unappealing. Even with Torch occupying one side of the bed with his warmth, it wasn't the same as a person. It was a bad idea to call on Fenris now… he could think she was an intruder and attack her as soon as she entered, or tell her that he didn't want to see her, amongst other things…

She had made up her mind. Before she realised what she was doing, she grabbed a thick travelling cloak of the coat stand and slid her ice cold feet into the first pair of footwear she saw: a dainty pair of pink satin slippers she often wore about the house. Deciding this odd attired would do, she slid through the front door, closed it quietly, and dashed across Hightown.

A gentle breeze nipped at her face as the soft pitter-patter of her feet sounded on the ground, her pace picking up in her urgency to not only see Fenris, but to also be out of the chilly air. No lights were on when she reached his mansion. With some trepidation, she knocked lightly on the vast wooden door. Nothing. Though then again she didn't expect him to open the door at this time of night. What if she just went in? He had entered her estate without invitation before… Hawke knocked again, louder this time. A dim light flickered on upstairs and her heart beat erratically she became aware that he was awake and would see him soon. She could not hear any footsteps, however; Fenris was spectacularly light on his feet and often made no sound as he moved from one place to the other.

"Come on, come on," she muttered under her breath, bouncing on the balls of her feet and drawing the cloak around her person tighter in effort to keep warm. Eventually, the door opened a crack and an olive green eye peered out suspiciously.

"Hawke," Fenris said, mild surprise registering in his voice. He opened the door wider and she saw he was glowing blue slightly with a dagger drawn. Evidently, he was expecting someone, but not her. "What are you doing here this late?"

"I'm cold," she said lamely. Confused, Fenris stepped aside and allowed her in, marvelling at her unusual choice in clothes. It was obvious she had not planned to come here tonight and especially not at this hour. Her hair was dishevelled and had come free from the elegant bun she had tied it in the previous day, and a red mark had been imprinted on her face, presumably from lying on creased bed sheets for too long. He stopped glowing and surveyed her through the gloom as she looked around the entryway.

"What are you doing here?" he repeated, though not unkindly.

"Uh, I couldn't sleep," she replied pathetically, dithering on the spot. "I wanted to see you."

Taken aback, he said, "I hardly think that this hour is appropriate for social visits."

Crestfallen, she gazed down awkwardly at the floor. She truly was a fool to think he would take her in at this time, or any time.

"I'll leave, then."

She made her way back to the door, embarrassed tears pricking her eyes, not daring to look at the elf as she passed him until an arm was thrown out to stop her.

"Don't."

The command was simple, almost a plea, and yet she desired nothing more to obey. Amber eyes met the familiar forest green, each lost in their depths. Wordlessly, Fenris pulling Hawke's travelling cloak from her and let it fall to the floor, holding her chin as he searched her face hungrily. He was not in his usual spiky armour, much to Hawke's relief, and was instead wearing light cotton breeches and white shirt. This visage was unfamiliar, as Hawke had only ever seen him in his armour except for the one time they shared a night together, and yet he looked as divine as ever, albeit slightly vulnerable in these normal clothes.

He bent down; not to kiss her, but to lift her swiftly off her feet, cradling her in his arms similar to how one would hold a new-born babe. Arms round his neck, her heart beat out an erratic rhythm as the elf silently carried her upstairs to the room where he slept. She felt slightly glad that he didn't kiss her, feeling that it would have been utterly predictable should he had done, and that wasn't Fenris's style. He never failed to surprise her. She hadn't been in his room since he had moved in and made it his own. A double bed stood in the corner, the sheets crumpled from where Fenris had slept; a fire blazed and empty wine bottles sat scattered around the room along with other random paraphernalia. Obviously Fenris had never expected company of any sort, ever. Or perhaps he did not bother himself with what people thought of his home.

He laid her down onto his bed with extreme care. A smell of clean sheets and musky scent of man assaulted her nostrils and she breathed in deeply, desiring nothing more than to remain her tonight with this man. Suddenly she felt the most relaxed she had been all night as Fenris took off her delicate satin slippers and set them carefully next to his bed. Burrowing into the covers she noticed a slight bulge in his bottoms as he crawled in beside her, though felt no desire to perform any sexual act tonight, feeling the need for sleep dragging her down, beckoning her. Hawke's eyelids began to droop as Fenris held out his arm and invited her over into his personal space. Right now, both of their intentions were clear: neither wanted sex nor any other form of foreplay. All that mattered at this present moment in time was that she was here, in his bed with him, ultimately his. Fenris gazed down at the sleepy human, her head on his chest and one arm wrapped around his waist, his arm around her shoulders protectively. With his free hand he smoothed her hair off her face, to which he felt her smile against his body before her breathing became heavy. For the first time in a long time he smiled, pulling the duvet over them both as he, too, drifted into the most restful slumber he had experienced for a while.

* * *

Hawke awoke suddenly some time before midday. She clutched at the empty space beside her and shot up as fear and panic flooded her heart. He had left her again. After promising not to, he had. Panic turned to sadness and embarrassment as tears pricked her eyes. She had been foolish, once again – until…

"I made you tea," a low voice said from near the bedroom door. Fenris had appeared, shirtless, wearing only his cotton trousers this time, carrying a steaming chipped mug. Hawke's face burned with further embarrassment that she had jumped to the worst possible conclusion. Trying to cover this moment, she smiled sleepily at him.

"I didn't think you drank tea."

"I don't," he said simply, handing her the mug. "I went to the market while you were sleeping."

This display of affection momentarily left her speechless. "Oh," was all she could manage to say. "Thank you."

Sipping the hot liquid joyously, she watched Fenris as he crossed the room and perched himself on the edge of the bed. Slyly, her eyes raked over his tanned torso, the lyrium tattoos and the rippling muscles. She became curious as to why he was half-naked but thought better to question it. This was his home after all, and it would have been rude of her to tell him to get dressed. Not that she was complaining at any rate. He appeared not to notice the coveting looks she was giving him as he was gazing interestedly out of the window, apparently lost in thought.

Wordlessly, Hawke stretched out a free arm and placed her hand over his. He jumped and frowned at this sudden touched, but almost smiled when he looked down.

"Thank you for letting me stay the night," she said quietly. "I'm sorry I came at such a bad time…"

"Think nothing of it," he told her gently, lacing their fingers together. Her hands were so soft and delicate compared to his calloused fingers. She didn't seem to mind though – even less when he took the empty mug from her grasp and laid it on the floor, closing the small distance between them until he could smell her flowery scent. Carding his fingers through her hair he noticed the tender look she gave him, chewing her slightly trembling bottom lip. He smiled and she looked at him, bemused.

"What?" she asked, watching the small smile tug at his lips.

"You look like you wanted to kiss me," he said, amusement evident in his voice, tugging on her hair playfully.

She didn't return the smile and continued to survey him seriously. "I always want to kiss you."

He stopped still and frowned. "What –"

But he was cut off midsentence as she pressed a finger to his lips. Her hand snaked around the back of his neck and pulled him closer, slowly, until her breath tickled his nose. Hesitantly, like teenagers on a first date, they kissed, and sparks flew. She felt the long-forgotten electricity course down her spine whilst he felt the familiar hardness form in his crotch in an instant. Teeth clicked together and they sat in uncomfortable positions but this didn't matter. Fenris's tongue invaded Hawke's mouth, heat pooling between her legs as he did so, massaging her tongue with his now. Just as suddenly as it started, they stopped, as Fenris bolt upright, straining his ears for the sound he just heard.

"Fenris, what –" began Hawke.

He held up a hand to silence her, his acute hearing picking up footsteps downstairs.

"Stay here," he told her sharply, standing up with intent to find out who this intruder was. This intent was deemed unnecessary, however, as someone burst through the bedroom door. Fenris leapt back in alarm and reached down to pick up his greatsword – until he saw the shock of ginger hair.

"I'm sorry for bursting in like this," panted Aveline, "but the Arishok requires Hawke's presence right away." Her eyes panned the room and rested upon the dishevelled Hawke sat in bed, clutching bed covers to herself to retain a shred of decency.

"What now?" asked Hawke, irritated at the interruption and also at the Qunari's demands. She felt no need to explain herself; Aveline didn't pry.

"It involves their powder, sar qamek, same as last time," the guardswoman explained as her breathing returned to normal. "And the dwarf."

"Javaris," Hawke snarled under her breath. This had to be dealt with, as soon as possible – and so did Aveline. Hawke chanced a sidelong glance at Fenris; the elf was now throwing on clothes and armour, the tips of his ears tinged pink due to Aveline's interruption and at her seeing him barely dressed. Suddenly it became apparent to Hawke that she would have to walk through Hightown wearing a nightshirt and pink slippers. Why hadn't she put something decent on?

"I'll meet you at the compound," said Aveline with a significant glance at the pair of them. Silently, she turned on her heel, closing the door behind her as she went. Eventually her footfalls died away. Fenris finished putting on his gauntlets before facing Hawke, who was still in bed. She was gazing into the distance, apparently lost in thought, and he glided over to her, unnoticed. She snapped out of her reverie as he sat on the edge of the bed.

Running a gauntleted finger across the delicate peachy skin of her cheek, he smiled. "How I wish we could remain in bed all day with only each other for company…"

She shivered slightly at his touch. "That would be more desirable than appeasing the Arishock for what feels like the hundredth time."

Fenris's hand slid slowly down to Hawke's neck, the sharp metal grazing her skin but light enough to not leave a mark. He stopped when he reached her sternum and remembered that she wanted to take this steady. She hadn't said anything to stop him but he noticed that she'd stiffened slightly – amongst other things – and was eyeing him with some trepidation. With a great effort he withdrew his hand before standing up.

"The sooner we get this over with, the better," mumbled Hawke, aware of the slight tension in the air as she begrudgingly slid out the comforting warmth of Fenris's bed.

She traced the path Fenris's finger left on her neck when he wasn't looking, feeling her skin burn slightly from where he had touched her.


	16. Chapter 16

_A / N - warning: smut alert! (Hawke x Fenris)_

**Chapter Sixteen**

"A courtesy, Hawke. You will want to hunt him."

The Arishok had surveyed Hawke and her companions through malevolent dark eyes, leaning forward with slight interest, flanked by his usual spear-carrying bodyguards. So now he was leading Hawke on a merry dance for Javaris – as if the dwarf hadn't don't enough. Some things never change.

"Better ask the Coterie," Varric had muttered as they exited the compound under the discerning glares several Qunari gave them.

It was all very well, going here, there and everywhere to find out what this dwarf wanted now; it appeared his greed knew no bounds. However, after traipsing through Darktown and exhausting themselves through Smuggler's Cut, then on to fight another multitude of thugs, the party questioned a cowering Javaris only to discover he was not the one they were supposedly after. Worn out and irritable, Hawke led the troupe to a blind alley in search of an elf Javaris had mentioned, with a few of her companions bickering bitterly on the way. She felt sorry for them; they were all blood-splattered along with herself, bruised and aching, and they had much to do yet. The situation was not made any easier by the suffocating gas they encountered amongst everything else. The team worked surprisingly well: swords slicing through flesh as if the bodies were made of butter; bolts embedding themselves deeply into skulls and fireballs and entropic clouds burning their enemies and draining them of life.

Satisfied, and after hastily looting corpses, Hawke nodded to her companions, leading them back to the compound before sundown. Isabela made herself scarce at this point with a hurried apology. Hawke frowned, making a mental note to question her about it later. Finally, after speaking to the Arishok for what Hawke hoped would be the last time for a long time and then collecting a reward from Viscount Dumar, the party were permitted their rest time. In this case, it meant drinks at the Hanged Man for Varric, Isabela and whoever elected to join. Hawke, however, raised an apologetic hand as the troupe arrived in front of the infamous tavern, politely declining the invitation. Receiving a meaningful nudge in the back and jumping slightly, she met Fenris's gaze. He flicked his eyes towards the direction of Hightown; the infinitesimal movement went unnoticed by many but Hawke gave him a small smile, feeling as though a flock of butterflies had been released in the pit of her stomach. He raised an eyebrow nonchalantly and she felt her legs weaken.

"What a day, huh?" Hawke mumbled as they walked together amicably, more to herself than Fenris. Night had truly fallen now. Oil lamps glowed orange, lighting a dim path for those out late, and drunken shouts could be heard from within the depths of Lowtown.

"You fought well today, Hawke," Fenris said quietly as they entered the still night air of Hightown. Over a long period of time, they had eliminated the thugs that plagued the area, preying on the weak. Now, the streets were safe, and many could now walk alone at night without the fear of being attacked.

"Thank you," came Hawke's reply, slightly taken aback at the compliment. "I particularly liked the way you decapitated five of those mercenaries with one swing of your sword."

A ghost of a smile played about his lips. True, they worked well together as a team. Together they were unstoppable with the power they possessed. There was something appealing about watching Hawke on the battlefield, the way her hair whipped around her face, contorted with concentration as she mentally calculated each attack. They nearly always landed without fail. He watched her now; she had tied her hair up into a bun once again, which he liked for some reason. Maybe it was the way it framed her heart-shaped face. He was seized with a sudden desire to pull the pin from her hair and card his fingers through its luxurious softness.

They came to Fenris's mansion first. He cleared his throat uneasily. The proposal he had held in his mind throughout their journey here was about to be spoken before he clammed up and backed out.

"If…" he began, slowing to a stop. He became immensely interested in the cobbled stone ground as a pink flush tinged his ears. "If you would like, you would welcome to… ah, spend the night again…"

He felt himself turn from delicate pink to full-on crimson. For Andraste's sake, why did he feel so awkward about asking her this? Maybe he was worried she would say no? He chanced a glance at her when she didn't reply and found himself already half-wishing that she would decline. This waiting was the worst.

A delicate hand cupped his burning cheek.

"I'd love to," she whispered.

And he finally looked at her. She was smiling, as she always did when she looked at him. Those eyes – Maker, he could get lost in those eyes. They were so full of a deep-running affection that he felt his stomach jolt uncomfortably. She grasped his hand, to which he discovered were slightly clammy, and she allowed him to lead her to his door. Neither knew where this was going, nor of their intentions again. It could end with lustful sex or a passionate embrace. All Fenris knew, however, was that he yearned to feel her body next to his, or near him; her mere presence brought an inexplicable comfort.

They climbed the dark stairs together, Hawke one step behind. Fenris's bedroom was as he had left it that morning with its scattered wine bottles and other debris. Now, he opened a fresh bottle of wine, the bottle slightly dusty from being sat in the corner of the room for a long time. Silently, he filled two glasses near to the brim as Hawke propped her greatsword against the wall next to Fenris's. Hawke undid her gauntlets steadily, setting them down next to her weapon. Then off came the sturdy breastplate, the spiky pauldrons, the pointed boots until she was in nothing but her button-down cotton chemise and leather trousers. Fenris handed her a glass of rich red wine, which she sipped appreciatively. She practically downed her glass in one while he surveyed her actions with some kind of reverence. It wasn't often he found himself in the company of a woman who enjoyed to drink.

With a small smile, Hawke cocked her head to one side, surveying the handsome elf that stood before her. He watched her apprehensively, wondering what was going through her mind. He could practically hear her brain whirring as her gaze raked over his armour. Resigned to her obvious thoughts, he set down his glass, slowly setting to work on taking off his armour, too. Out of the corner of his eye he saw her move swiftly by him. On closer inspection, Hawke had seated herself on the edge of his bed, her legs crossed, like a child that had been promised a good puppet show. This time he smiled, rather broadly, and made his way over to her.

"You look happy about something," he murmured in her ear. He leant over her, his arms either side of her as he nibbled her earlobe. Her head tipped back as this action elicited a gasp from her.

"Maybe because I have found myself in the company of an exceptionally handsome elf," she mused as Fenris trailed his mouth below her jaw line.

"Handsome, is it?" he replied, smiling against her skin.

"I know I said I wanted to take this slow…" she began.

Fenris stopped suddenly as if burned and pulled away from her. "I apologise." He looked embarrassed.

"No, no, please don't," Hawke said hurriedly, seeing the uncomfortable expression on his face. "I was saying, that I know what I said, it's just…"

"What?" he said, urgently, to prompt an answer from her.

Hawke looked him full in the face, her eyebrows knitted together in uncertainty. "I don't want to take this slow anymore."

Fenris opened and closed his mouth. He had not expected her to say this, at all. What was the meaning of this?

"I'm tired of coy looks, like we're teenagers dating and are too shy to look at each other," she explained, somewhat irritably. "I want you, all the time, every day. I want you until I take my last dying breath, and I want you to be able to give me those loving glances properly instead of when you think I'm not looking and don't notice."

He continued to watch her. There was a flush on her cheeks as she had increasingly become more wound up. For once, he was deemed speechless. This didn't seem to matter, however, as she proceeded to rant on, her words tumbling out of her mouth as if she had been desperate to say this for a long time.

"I want us to be able to spend time with each other, and not have it being questioned, and I want us to kiss without asking permission –"

"Kiss me." He issued the command without consciously realising. After watching her mouth move, those lips the colour of crushed raspberries form all those nonsensical words, he realised what he wanted, what he had truly wanted for a long time. Anything to shut her up about what _she_ wanted, when he would raze the entire Free Marches for her, or give her Orlais if that was what made her happy. He needed her to understand this, and he would do this for any means possible. Right now, his actions spoke louder than either of their words combined.

Hawke stopped mid-sentence and gawked at him. "What?"

"I said kiss me, Hawke."

She looked to be on the verge of speaking more. Without preamble, he smashed his mouth against hers with such vigour she was forced onto her back. He kneeled above her, their tongues massaging each other, Hawke's fingers running through his soft snowy white hair. They scrabbled at each other's clothes with a lustful urgency. Keen to keep things moving, Fenris ripped open Hawke's chemise, the buttons popping as her breasts were released from their prison. He marvelled at them for a moment before blowing on them gently. Her dusty pink nipples immediately became erect and he nibbled one gently, eliciting a sharp gasp from her as he carefully rolled the sensitive bud between his teeth. Their gaze met, and she arched her back as he trailed feather-light kisses down her toned abdomen, kissing each of her few scars individually, lower and lower until he stopped above her trouser line. She hissed when he ceased touching her, but said nothing, only watched as Fenris pulled his own shirt over his head. His slim body rippled with corded muscle; strong, yet agile like a cat.

Heat seemed to radiate from him when Hawke laced her arms around his neck as he lowered himself to her level again. The feeling of their bare chests touching, skin against skin, was enough for heat to pool between Hawke's legs. Fenris's crotch gradually grew more and more erect until he felt as if his length was about to burst out of his trousers. It strained against the fabric to the extent that it was almost painful. Resigned to this fact, he deftly unlaced his breeches with one hand whilst the other became tangled in Hawke's hair, pressing against the back of her head as they proceeded to kiss. Finally, his length sprung free after his ministrations, the tip wet with pre-cum. The head of his throbbing erection pushed against Hawke's own trousers, leaving a damp patch on the cotton. Her hips bucked up to meet him and she moaned at the friction on her sex caused by her clothing. Slowly and deliberately, Fenris hooked his thumbs into the waistband of her trousers, pulling them down steadily, kissing down the soft skin of her inner thigh as he did so. As she tried to buck her hips again, he held her down fast, smirking as she struggled against his strong hold. Their gaze locked again, and he saw the excitement twinkling behind the molten amber eyes. A pink flush had crept upon the apples of her cheeks and she was breathless from their continuous kiss.

At last, Hawke was free from her clothes, except for her underwear. Fenris rid her of this burden by grasping the delicate lace that caressed her hips with both hands and pulled hard. She gasped, both out of shock and disbelief as her panties broke. They were truly useless now. Fenris tossed them over his shoulder, his smirk becoming more pronounced as Hawke's eyes rolled back when he inserted a long, slender finger into her. Accompanying his single digit with another, he massaged her g-spot, curving his fingers in a beckoning fashion, watching hungrily as Hawke mewled and writhed against his touch, her back arching sharply. He improved this flawless technique by swirling his tongue around her swollen clitoris, flicking the tip up into the hood. She dug her fingers into his arms, her blunt nails leaving deep marks as she began to gyrate her sex against his mouth. Increasing tempo, Hawke's cries became louder, shorter, more urgent.

With a final cry, she came; her juices squirted from her pussy, catching him in the face and dripping down onto the bed sheets. Her legs quivered from the aftermath of her orgasm, flinching slightly as Fenris pulled his fingers out of her slowly. Looking him in the eye, she grasped his wrist, bringing his hand to her face where she licked her moisture from his digits, sucking on them more than was necessary. He exhaled sharply as she proceeded this act, Hawke smiling mischievously at the effect she was having on him. As she watched his brows pull together in yearning, she saw the tender affection in the way which he looked at her.

Suddenly, he pulled his fingers out of her mouth and began kissing her with the urgency he had before. He ached to touch her, feel her, be with her, anything to prove that she was his, and would be forever. Hawke grasped his shaft momentarily, causing him to flex at her delicate touch. Slowly, but surely, shaft still in hand, she opened her legs wide enough to allow him to sit between them and guided his erection to her sex. She teased the head at the opening at first, allowing her own moisture to lubricate him. After what felt like an aeon of teasing – and just before Fenris caved and thrust deep into her – she raised her hips and spread her legs wider in order to admit him. He groaned at her delicious tightness. He had missed the way her walls clutched at him, making room for his long, thick cock, and the way she convulsed around him when he pounded her relentlessly, giving her no choice but to climax.

This time, however, Fenris slide himself into her at a steady pace, making sure to force the entire length of his cock in order to hit her deep. She revelled in the full feeling, clawing desperately at his back as their sighs and moans mingled into one, echoing around the vast, practically empty room. Fenris gritted his teeth as her nails raked down the skin of his back, probably drawing blood, but he didn't care. The pain spurred him on and he picked up speed slightly before lifting Hawke's legs and placing them high on his shoulders. She whined as Fenris's engorged cock slid in and out of her effortlessly, fucking her so deep she began to feel the fullness in her stomach. He thrust in sharply, letting out a low guttural groan, his cock convulsing as he spilt is seed inside her, also feeling Hawke's walls tighten as she, too, reached orgasm.

Utterly spent, Fenris flopped down next to Hawke, their sweaty bodies touching and their chests heaving. It hadn't been as rough as the first time they had spent the night together, but strangely Fenris preferred it slower and more meticulous. This way, he got to spend more time paying attention to Hawke's needs and admiring the way her breasts jiggled when he held her hips, pulling her to meet him with every thrust. Now, they exchanged a tired smile, remaining silent until they caught their breath. Fenris smoothed away sweaty tendrils that stuck to Hawke's face, admiring every strenuous detail and crease. Her eyes closed sleepily, not noticing the searching look he was giving her, as if he hadn't realised the delicate features of her face until now. He noticed the way her nose curved up slightly at the tip; the brown beauty mark below her left eye; the plumpness of her lips and how they were a spectacular shade of cerise, as if she spent most of her days chewing them in a worried manner.

"I can feel you watching me," she murmured, opening one eye, looking triumphant.

"I was not," he said defensively, averting his gaze elsewhere – in this case, to her large breasts that marginally fell outwards to the side as she lay down, their weight causing them to gravitate towards her underarms. She noticed where he was looking and pulled the edge of the duvet around her shyly.

She stretched luxuriously, her nipples peeking above the bed covers. "I suppose I'd better get dressed."

Hawke went to stand but found herself pinned to the bed by Fenris's arm, his eyes dancing. "Stay."

For a moment, she resisted as she began to shiver; only Fenris joined her between the sheets and wrapped his arms around her protectively. His body heat was enough to prevent her from catching her death from cold. Suddenly, she felt immensely tired, her heavy eyelids beginning to droop. She caught herself smiling as Fenris pecked soft kisses on her forehead as their bodies curled into each other, their legs a tangled mess. But that didn't matter now. Nothing trivial mattered; she was here, with him.

As sleep began to dawn on him too, his eyes snapped back open when Hawke broke the silence.

"Fenris," she murmured to gain his attention. He grunted to show he was listening but too tired to say little else. "I was wondering, maybe… maybe you'd like to, ah –"

She broke off as a soft snore rumbled in his chest. Crestfallen, but nevertheless relatively content, she rested her head on his chest, finally succumbing to sleep herself.


	17. Chapter 17

_A / N - Hawke x Fenris fluff! also language; sorry if you're sensitive to that kind of thing! _

Songs that inspired this chapter

_The Calling - Wherever You Will Go_  
_The Police - Every Breath You Take  
Paramore - That's What You Get_

**Chapter Seventeen**

Hawke had forgotten what she wanted to ask him by the time morning came round. The thought vanished from her mind as quickly as Torch would take scraps from the dinner table when he thought no one was looking. In all fairness, this lapse of memory was most likely due to the fact the pair spent most of their morning making love until the sun had reached its peak in the sky. Warm rays burst brazenly through the panes of the window without any curtains there to impede their brightness. Hawke lost count how many times she climaxed, up to the point where she could barely walk. Her legs trembled as she paced the room, picking up her garments that had been carelessly thrown as she went, Fenris watching her dress as he lay naked atop his bed sheets. It was a beautiful sight, seeing Hawke in all her glory. She was unaware of the hungry look he gave her, still yearning for her, regardless of their voracious sessions.

"Here."

Hawke crossed the room to him and he looked at her, puzzled, when she took his right wrist and laid it gently on her lap. She pulled out a red something from the pocket of her tunic; soon he realised it was a scarf, of sorts. Hawke wrapped it around his bare wrist a couple of times before deftly tying it into a knot with a flourish. She looked at him expectantly.

"What is this?" he asked, not unkindly.

She appeared slightly downcast that he didn't immediately understand the sentiment. "It's a symbol of our… relationship." She stumbled on the word, unsure whether to call it such.

Fenris fingered the soft folds before unearthing what looked like writing. Peeling back the fabric and tilting his head, he saw that, embroidered in gold, were the words '_I am yours_'.

"It was just a thought," Hawke shrugged, her face burning. "I mean, if you don't want –"

Fenris silenced her incessant babbling by pressing his mouth gently against her, trying to put his unspoken feelings into their kiss, trying to tell her that this meant more than anything to him, but couldn't because of the lump of emotion that had risen in his throat and stuck there. She seemed to understand, however; when they pulled apart, she was distinctly ruffled, but relieved and happy.

"I have nothing to give you in return…" Fenris said quietly and fumbled with his scarf. He scratched his nose in an awkward manner and noticed that the scarf smelled exactly of Hawke: floral and fresh. He made a mental note to never take it off.

"You didn't have to get me anything," Hawke assured him now, lying down next to him, their limbs becoming entangled as they embraced.

He kissed the top of her head, both of them lost in thought, before Hawke spoke up suddenly.

"Do you like living here, Fenris?" she asked him, following the whirls of his lyrium markings with her index finger. He shuddered at her touch and the way she said his name.

"It's an acceptable place to live," he shrugged, unsure what she was hinting at. "I have a bed, food and privy. There are worse places to live."

"How would you like to live somewhere less… lonely?" she pressed, continuing to make her fingers dance on his tan skin.

Fenris raised an eyebrow. Was this a futile attempt for him to make friends? "I would not do well living with other people in a shared accommodation, Hawke, surely you know this."

She sighed and flounced away from him, crossing her arms in front of her chest in the dramatic way when she was irritated, and blew a stray tendril out of her face. "You know that's not what I meant."

"Then… what did you mean?" he asked, now truly perplexed. He caught her roll her eyes as if she was dealing with someone particularly obtuse. Well, on her part, it did feel as such.

"You are a fool, Fenris," she muttered, crawling back across the bed to plant a kiss on his cool cheek. "I'm suggesting that you move in with me."

He did a double take and felt foolish once again. How did he not see that this was what she was playing about at? "Erm, are you sure that's wise…?"

Hawke pulled away from him suddenly. "I take it you don't want to."

It wasn't a question – more of a statement to get things straight.

"It's not that," he said slowly, watching the way her jaw hardened and an embarrassed flush crept upon her face. "I have… grown fond of this mansion in a strange way."

"So you like how Aveline has to actively change patrols around your mansion to not arouse suspicion? Or how you are forced to keep quiet and cease doing certain daily things to avert attention? Or how –"

"I get your point, Hawke," he said shortly. No, he did not like these things. She raised an interesting point, but he had grown to enjoy his own space, deciding to bathe and dress as he pleased, no one else present to probe him incessantly with pointless questions and, selfishly, he took pleasure in the silence as he drank wine in the evenings.

But there were better alternatives. He now thought of Hawke's lithe body next to him every night; waking up at early hours of the morning and knowing she is there and being able to roll over and hold her close. He wondered about the meals they would have – Hawke was a wonderful cook – the nights spent reading in front of the fire, with Torch a few feet away. There was also Danarius. At some point, he would come back to claim the mansion, but more so Fenris. Would it not be safer to reside with Hawke, even for the time being? Fenris pondered this; a temporary residence, a lot safer than this one, with Hawke. After Danarius was gone – killed in some way or other was the most logical tactic, thought Fenris – he could reassess his views on the situation… couldn't he?

Fenris looked at Hawke's face, her eyebrows raised, and realised he had been silent for far too long.

He didn't have to tell her of these complex thoughts and intentions – for now. The pros of spending more time with Hawke was what won the internal argument for him.

"Consider it done," he said with a small smile; which grew broader when Hawke threw herself at him, her arms wrapped around his neck in a tight embrace.

* * *

There was a new spring in Hawke's step as she made her way from the Qunari compound for the second time that week. This hadn't gone unnoticed, however.

"Looks like _someone_ got it good last night," Isabela called, not troubling to keep her voice low. As usual, she had not entered the compound and simply waited outside them for the others to finish their business. Aveline tutted whilst Anders glowered. The mage dragged behind the group, clenching and unclenching his hands to rid them of the urge to wrap them around Fenris's throat.

Hawke merely made an obscene gesture but the impact was lessened by a mischievous wink aimed at the pirate. Hawke couldn't help but feel cheerful even though they were yet again burdened with another task for the Arishok – this time, involving none other than Petrice.

Night time had fallen by the time the troupe made their way to the chantry in search of Seamus Dumar. Why there was such agitation surrounding the boy's decisions, Hawke would never know. Personally, she considered the Viscount a stubborn fool.

They remained alert as they entered the Chantry. Even though it was a sacred place and usually they had no reason to fear, foul play was definitely afoot – there always was with anything concerning Petrice. Hands on their weapons ready, the group proceeded over the Chantry threshold. Hawke breathed a sigh of a relief as she spotted the distant figure of Seamus, on his knees, presumably in prayer. She considered calling him, but decided against it considering the quietness of the place. The last thing she needed was the Grand Cleric scolding her for being too loud. Instead, Hawke began to climb the stairs, but quickly realised something was wrong. Seamus was unusually still, even for someone praying, and on closer inspection didn't appear to be breathing. Hawke reached out a hand and as it made contact with Seamus's shoulder, he flopped sideways, falling heavily to the ground.

The Viscount's son was dead.

* * *

It was uproar. Not only did Petrice now also lie dead on the cold stone Chantry floor with an arrow through her skull, but this did not bode well for the Qunari. Hawke and Aveline cast worried glance at each other as they exited the Chantry and back into Hightown.

Aveline pulled Hawke to the side as the other companions went their separate ways. Fenris paused for a moment and raised his eyebrows at her expectantly, clearly wondering which estate to go back to. Hawke answered his questioning look with a curt nod. He understood this to mean she and Aveline were to talk back at Hawke's estate, privately.

Or not so private, it transpired. Isabela tailed them back with reason that she had to speak with Hawke also. Aveline did not take too kindly to this display of selfishness and only Hawke's presence stopped her from slapping the whore right across the face.

"This concerns the Qunari, not your selfish prattle about your stupid relic," snapped Aveline, only to have her anger quelled by Isabela's surprising response.

"Well…" she began infuriatingly slow, "maybe… it's connected."

"_Now_ you start being responsible? Shit." Aveline banged her heel against the floor irritable and ran a hand through her flaming hair exasperatedly.

Hawke looked between the two women. Sure, the Qunari were definitely a threat, but she had helped Isabela in the beginning for a reason. No point in changing her mind about doing the same for her now.

"We help Isabela first," Hawke said firmly, receiving looks of disbelief from both of them.

"You really trust her this much?" scoffed Aveline.

"Probably not," shrugged Isabela airily, then smile. "I wouldn't."

"Come on," said Hawke quickly as she saw Aveline's mouth open to retort. "We need to get going."

She nodded and allowed Isabela to lead the way, a sceptical Aveline following close behind as they rallied the others.

* * *

Isabela had betrayed them. Stupid bitch-born whore. Hawke felt incredibly foolish for not foreseeing this. Of course Isabela would have got what she wanted and fled. That was what she did best, and what most of her life as a pirate was about.

Hawke's face burned as she led her companions back to the docks. Aveline didn't seem to blame Hawke too much – only for her having too good a heart and being too trusting. It was true; now, after this, Hawke realised that she could have never trusted Isabela. With anything.

As expected, the Arishok was most displeased. But, regardless of his wrath, what happened next was something that would never have occurred in Hawke's wildest dreams. The Qunari began rallying an attack against Kirkwall – Hawke had expected some sort of reaction, but not this.

She and Aveline fled the compound, grabbing the others who stood at the gates, all the while doing their best to avoid the arrows and spears now raining down upon them.

"I'll fucking kill Isabela if it's the last thing I do!" Hawke burst out savagely.


	18. Chapter 18

**Chapter Eighteen**

At last, Hawke had entered the Viscount's Keep, aided by her companions, First Enchanter Orsino and surprisingly Knight Commander Meredith. Only it wasn't to be that the viscount ruled the Keep for much longer, it appeared.

Dumar's head fell down the steps of the throne room with a sickening thud as bone collided with stone until it rolled into the shocked crowd. Hawke pulled her greatsword from her back as Qunari honour guards surrounded the group, slashing fiercely though taking great care not to hit any of her companions. Naturally, it had been difficult for her when she first started wielding other variants of heavy weapons at an early age. Now, she heaved the metal with great ease, before finally decapitating one of the guards.

The Arishok snarled as he approached Hawke again. He opened his mouth to speak, when –

_Crash_.

Isabela burst through the double doors, a heavy, leather bound book under one arm. Hawke stared on in ill-disguised disbelief.

"Well, today truly is full of surprises," she muttered to Varric who stood at her side. She turned to Isabela. "What made you come back?"

"This is your damned influence Hawke," Isabela told her. The pirate seemed annoyed by this fact and shook her head, though smiled. "I was halfway to Ostwick before I realised I had to turn back. It's pathetic."

The two women exchanged a mutual smile as the Arishok took the Tome of Koslun in his clawed hands.

"We are now free to return to Par Vollen… with the thief," he added menacingly, eyeing Isabela with great dislike.

"What?" The pirate's attention snapped back to the glaring Qunari.

"Oh no, no, no. If anyone kicks her ass, it's me," interjected Aveline fiercely.

Hawke didn't need to look at Anders, Fenris, Merrill or Varric to know what the right thing to do was. She looked the Arishok defiantly in the face.

"She stays with us," she told him, loud and clear, her voice reverberating around the throne room.

"I'm sure he'll take that well," Varric muttered sardonically. "Uh, Rivaini? You might want to step over here."

"I challenge you, Hawke: a duel to the death." The Arishok pointed a finger at her menacingly. She didn't flinch.

"I accept," she replied, her jaw set.

Fenris watched, eyes wide. He couldn't let Hawke go through with this but he didn't have a choice. He would be dishonouring Qunari custom if he interrupted now; either pulling her to safety or helping the fight would result in all of them being killed.

"No, Hawke! Fight me instead!" Isabela shouted, elbowing past the others.

"You have no honour," Arishok snarled in her face. He pushed her roughly towards the wall where the others were watching, shock on each and every face. Merrill actually hid behind Anders's feathery pauldrons whilst the latter looked as dumbfounded and scared as if Hawke's challenge was to eat a plateful of cats. It was probably on this that he and Fenris had ever agreed on something. He caught the elf's eye for a split second and saw that Fenris, too, was worried.

Hawke slid the greatsword from her back slowly, watching the Arishok's every move. They circled each other like animals, their lips curled upwards into a snarl. It was a fight to the death.

The Qunari charged at her before she had time to ready herself. A dull blow connected with her arm as she tried to duck away at the last moment, but she was forced away from the impact. She heard gasps as she stood, this time ready for the charge. She narrowly missed a heavy slash of one of the Arishok's monstrous swords. The blade swung a second time, and scraped against her breastplate before sweeping against her face. A sickening screech echoed as metal slide uncomfortably against metal, leaving a scuff in its wake. Hawke, blood trickling down her face, took this opportunity to offer the Arishok a few blows in return – only to find most of them expertly blocked. Only when did the tip of her greatsword gouge a deep cut in his face did he run full pelt at her again. This time the impact was incredible. She jolted and, even though she was wearing heavy armour, her soft body hit the inside of the breastplate. Her underclothes did nothing for padding. She felt a rib or two break as she thudded to the floor once again.

"No!" someone shouted – a male voice. For a moment she was disoriented, and couldn't determine the cry of anguish. Her eyes slid in and out of focus as she lay in agony, resting upon Fenris. A flash of red caught her eye: the scarf she had given him. Adrenaline coursed through her body. She must not concede defeat. Dying was not an option.

As Hawke gingerly tried to stand again, she saw a flash of glinting metal out the corner of her eye. At the very last moment, she rolled away from the two blades that embedded themselves in the gaps between the stone slabs where she had been a second previously. The Arishok pulled with all his might to extract his swords, but this was all the time she needed.

Throwing herself up quickly, her ribs screaming and gritting her teeth against the agony, she ran at the Qunari with a curious gate due to her bruising. His dark eyes widened in shock as she plunged her trusty greatsword deep into his back. She felt the blade slide between ribs, severing his heart until the sword pierced the other side. With grim satisfaction, she pulled her weapon from his body, kicking the near-dead Arishok onto his back, forcing him to look at her.

"We… will… return," he rasped, before a horrible gurgling noise rose in his throat. He took one last shuddering breath and was still.

Shouldering her weapon, Hawke rounded on her companions, doubled over. Exhausted, and managing a weak smile amidst the cheers that exploded around the room, Hawke keeled over in agony. The last thing she remembered before blacking out was all the proud faces smiling at her.

Their saviour.

* * *

Hawke came round some time later. She still felt severely disorientated. Male voices could be heard, but they swam around her brain, fuzzy and none of the words making any sense. She tried to lift her arms but found she couldn't. They felt as if they were made of lead.

Trying her utmost to bring herself back to reality, she opened her eyes a crack, only to be blinded by a sudden light. She winced.

"Am I dead?" she whispered, squinting.

"No, not dead, but you gave us all a fright," a low voice said, obviously relieved. Adjusting to the candlelight – and shocked that the room was more dim than initially thought – Hawke's blurry gaze rested upon the figure at her side. She lifted an arm to reach out and touch them, but they pinned her arm back down. "No, don't move just yet."

From the feel of the material beneath her, she was on top of her own bed. Gradually, her sense became back to normal, and she almost started when she realised she was nearly naked except for a breast band and underwear.

"Why am I naked?" she all but screeched, desperate for decency but again found her movements restricted.

"Hawke, stop," the voice pleaded again. Anders's face was thrown into full relief by the candlelight now. He was now stood over her, applying a foul smelling balm to the deep cut on her face.

"Anders?" she whispered, losing herself in his whiskey brown eyes. "Maker, am I glad to see you."

He smiled shyly, resting a comforting hand on her forearm before a voice, a harsher one, cut across the moment.

"I warned you not to get any ideas, mage," spat Fenris.

Hawke's attention snapped to the elf who had remained concealed in the shadows. He stepped forward, still clad in his spiky armour, a look of utmost loathing on his face.

"And I told you that you didn't have to stay," grumbled Anders, withdrawing his hand. "It's hard to work with you breathing down my neck, you know."

"As if I would trust you," snapped Fenris. His gaze softened when his eyes rested upon Hawke. From the dark rings under his eyes and the way his snow white hair stood on end, Hawke guessed that he had been on tenterhooks whilst she was unconscious. "How are you feeling?"

"Well, I've been better," Hawke replied with a terrible stab at humour. Anders held his hands above her torso, a blue glow emanating from his hands as he healed the broken ribs. When he had finished, she pulled herself up into a more comfortable position on the bed, wincing slightly.

"I had to reset the bones while you were knocked out," Anders explained, "it was better that way, so you didn't feel the pain as much."

Hawke nodded, exhaustion suddenly overwhelming her. As she became more familiar with the room and events that happened, she noticed that her head pounded relentlessly.

"Got anything for the headache?" she muttered, rubbing her temples. By accident, she smeared the balm that had been on her cheek. "And what's this stuff for?" She wrinkled her nose in disgust.

"It will prevent scarring. Here." Anders passed her a mug of hot water with several herbs in that had been left to stew. "Drink that."

Obeying, she swallowed the liquid in two gulps and nearly gagged. It was disgusting. Pushing the empty mug back to the mage, a weight on the bed caught her attention. Fenris leaned over and gently encased Hawke's hand in his gauntleted ones, an expression of utmost relief on his face. She smiled reassuringly and couldn't help notice that Anders was spending much more time than necessary on ensuring his balms and other medical supplies were packed away.

"The others are waiting downstairs – I'll go speak to them," said the mage, turning to leave without a backward glance at either of them.

"Anders," called Hawke as he opened the door.

He turned to face her with great difficulty, trying to ignore the tender scene unfolding before his eyes.

"Thank you," she said with overwhelming sincerity.

He managed a smile and a nod, before vanishing out the door and downstairs, leaving the woman he loved in the arms of another.


End file.
